The previous blog post was pretty dramatic, I guess. While writing it I had to pause a few times when I realized that what I was writing down was something you'd read in a suicide note, found after the deed was done. I also still agree with my assertion. I'm deriving no joy from life at this point due to the reasons mentioned, and it's highly unlikely that I will be able to do so any time soon.
Sure, there are things coming up as usual. Some legal complaints against the Dutch hospitals, the impending legal gender change, a possible TV appearance in the UK and the usual bits and pieces like people saying they're asking around for help or passing my story around. Yet they do not matter with regard to my direct situation.
Today I keep getting assaulted by waves of negative thoughts and doubts. I have been working all day on a number of projects which should hopefully earn me some money and attention. My situation is thus that I'm essentially broke and would be living on the streets if I wasn't living at my mom's place. Yet even she can't finally support me for much longer. Thus I absolutely have to fix it. Just me. No miracle is going to occur. No one is going to suddenly hire me. No one is going to get me out of this absolute Hell I ended up in.
Alright, that was a bit dramatic. But still, the entire time that I'm awake I feel this suggestion to commit suicide. It's a soft and so very tempting sensation. Putting the prospect of ending my existence next to the many years of hell I'm bound to go through, I would be insane to not pick the only reasonable option. I don't give a damn about the others who I might be helping by persisting to live, or inconvenience by killing myself. In the end, me as an individual is what matters.
I have been accused on countless occasions of 'wallowing in self-pity' and such things. I do not think I do. I know that if I did nobody would take me seriously. I know that I hate feeling miserable. I hate feeling the way I do while I'm typing this. All choked up and teary-eyed. I hate it because I'm weak and helpless. I hate it because it reminds me of the intense pain inside which I have to push away every moment I'm conscious. It reminds me that nobody really understands what I'm going through, that I'm living in the twilight moments before my existence forever fades, as the poets call it.
I'm still holding back the worst of the pain and agony inside. If I let it out I'd die.
Thus I wear this mask. A double-sided mask. One side for myself and another for the outside world. Both are shielded this way from the destructive force inside of me. Even if it's slowly killing me inside.
For a while now there's nothing I have wanted more than to abandon any contacts with others. Just vanish out of everyone's lives. I'd no longer have to wear one side of the mask. Yet I could not do this without losing control over the other side of the mask. I'd lose the mask and with it destroy myself.
Which would you pick, a slow or a quick death?
Just get it over with already... I'm sick of having to defend myself and beg for help which never arrives.