THE ART OF SURVIVAL

I’m okay, by the way—I think? If we share some commonality in terms of how we define okay, it really is not that serious. My suicidal thoughts have all been passive and my brain hasn’t lost its chemical capacity to perform my role as a functioning adult. In all honesty, I’m a bit wary of using the word depression; it’s such a blanket term that’s too intimately linked with the clinical branch of depression. The more nuanced lower end of the spectrum gets slided onto the back burner, because it’s not pressing—which is a perfectly sound logic. Given that none of my symptoms directly point to major/clinical depression, I’m more inclined to stay away from it altogether. My episodes are never debilitating to the extent that I ignore hygiene or fail to keep my job. So it feels stupid to be open about my minor inconveniences. I’d much rather invalidate my own mental struggle before someone can say to my face “You’re just faking it for attention—”

You know how people sometimes say “I haven’t been feeling myself lately,” More often than not, it indicates a varying degree of emotional disturbances—be it gloomy, anxious, in despair, discontent, bitter, or what have you. You recognize what your normal behavior looks like and you get a sense when it deviates off the course. In contrast, I can’t really tell if my low-spirited nature is just a part of a temporary mental distress or is it actually me. It has been my default state for as long as I can remember that it successfully assimilated into my personality traits. So much so that if I were to say “I haven’t been feeling like myself lately,” it would mean a good thing.

I learned to make peace with the way life works; how to navigate through the challenges while keeping my head above water. The secret is to give up all your hopes and be okay with not thriving. Life is not actually that bad when you feel apathetic. I’ve fully embraced my apathy and made it my home—very comfy here, 10/10 would recommend. Because who the fuck got time to do some thriving? Also, why must we thrive as humans? Why is that a necessity? Who decided that? Why can’t we just survive? How is it not enough to survive? 

Not quite sure what else there even is to life that makes me willingly choose it every single day. But surviving has to be enough for now. I am not putting any more effort into this bullshit. 

Anyway, that’s the baseline. That’s what my good day looks like. Lukewarm, with a hint of melancholy. Now, on to the good stuff—

Every time something drives me over the edge, my go-to coping mechanism has always been limited to safe non-lethal strategies, which include social withdrawal (textbook self-sabotaging behavior) and restrictive food intake (an effort to regain some sense of control apparently). It wasn’t until recently that my brain got a bit more creative and incorporated suicidal ideation into the mix. Whenever I only have my thoughts to keep me company, it’s incredibly easy to spiral into a self-destructive existential conundrum. Although the problematic eating behavior has now also progressed into a more frequent pattern. Anxiety is no longer needed to spur the action. I just need a win sometimes. And running on two cups of coffee and nothing else all day is the most instantaneous way to earn a sense of accomplishment. (PSA: I don’t recommend it though. It’s ok for me and me only, it really is not good for you, kids.)

I wonder, why has nobody told you that as you get older, cutting your life short is becoming a more and more interesting option? It really feels like I’ve maxed out on my lifetime serotonin quota—it’s all spent. I’m done. At this point I’m not even living anymore; I’m just wasting everybody’s time. The thought of having to endure 20-30 more years of this fucking non-consensual existence is such a nightmare. (Actually, with the rapidly accelerating climate change and billionaires continuing to play gods, 30 years is probably too generous.) 

When it comes to the subject of suicide, some people’s prevention approach is to say stuff like “...think about how that makes your loved ones feel,” or “There’s so many things you’re going to miss out on,” First of all, let’s think about how I feel, ok. This is about me—focus up! Secondly, I don’t know where you got your biology lesson from, but you actually don’t have to worry about missing anything if you don’t wake up tomorrow. Because when you’re flatlined, your neurons stop firing. Ergo you can’t think, you can’t feel—so you wouldn’t have any function left to miss anything. Win-win.

I’ve been told countless times that it’s temporary; that there will come a time when I won’t feel this way anymore. But man...when you’re swimming across any large, deep body of water and then around mid way you’re slowly feeling your energy level is plummeting below zero, we all know how that’s gonna end. There’s no way you would ever be able to make it to the shore. Even if it’s only a few feet ahead of you. There’s nothing you can do except to let the water take you in. 

I’ve been enjoying looking into how body donation works lately. Interesting hobby—quite niche if I do say so myself. Unfortunately Science Care does not currently operate where I live. Also, in Mass you have to sign a consent paper that’s called Instrument of Anatomical Gift. But there has to be two witnesses. Urgh...! Ideally, I’d like my heart to stop beating at the exact place where they would actually store the bodies before they’re being used. Dying in my apartment room doesn’t really appeal to me. I don’t want to create a hassle where somebody has to schlep my body around. Can you imagine being dead and still be a burden to someone? Also, where do people buy body bags? I wonder if they do like a prime 2-day delivery. In the event of a demise-causing-amount-of blood spurting out of my person, I wouldn’t want to leave a mess for someone to clean up—that would be rude. It should be much cleaner and easier to manage if everything is contained within a cadaver bag. 

...

Ok, you know what, never mind—too many things to be mindful of. Fuck. I can’t believe being too polite is the only thing keeping me from actually executing any plans. Nope. Let’s be honest, you’re just a wimp, Sash. One day, maybe.

Again, let me reiterate: I am A-OK. I assure you, you’ll still see me being miserable and think about dying tomorrow and the day after.  But other than that, everything’s fine.