I just want to disappear
I feel emptiness and pain in my chest. A sadness that I don’t know where it comes from and when I suspect where it might come from. A few weeks ago, when my mother was traveling, I had a depressive crisis in the bath, punched myself in the mirror and cut myself with the gillette. That day I called Raquel and asked for help, told her what I was feeling. That same day, I went to sleep, in a way, happy, because I saw suicide as a hope, as something that would end everything and that was what I most wanted at that moment. I went to sleep with a message of hope: one day you will be able to kill yourself! And it was with that thought that I fell asleep, well, in a way.
Last Sunday, when I went to sleep, I was sad. I remembered that day when I went to sleep with hope for suicide, and on Sunday I no longer had that thought, because I felt unable to kill myself and I felt weak because of it. And, as has happened several times, an immense sadness formed in my chest like a tangle of thread that does not know where it starts and where it ends. And I just wanted to get it out of there, I wanted that feeling to go away, I wanted not to be going through that. At that moment, I was sure that my beginning of the week would be terrible.
I couldn’t be more sure. I woke up empty, not wanting to get up, to work, to live. I felt like a zombie several times while working. There was an emergency call and I turned off my microphone so they wouldn’t hear me cry. Van asked me if I was okay and I could only say no and that I didn’t have the heart to talk. I just want everything to be over at once. They say that death is not a solution, but damn it, of course it is. Ending everything is what I want most. In fact, if I suddenly became rich, lived in a nice place and had a perspective on life that I enjoyed minimally, maybe I would take a little longer to be sad. But, lately I feel that no matter what I have in life, what I achieve, where I live, with whom I live, even if I have a perfect family, this sadness would never fail to accompany me. She is always there, waiting for a moment to knock on my bedroom door and say that she arrived. She enters my chest for a few days and when she leaves she still says she will be back. And guess what. She always comes back. She always chases me. It doesn’t matter if I am in quarantine or if I am the freest person in the world, it seems that she will always follow me and will not let me go. She takes all my courage out of committing suicide, because she knows that eating away at my chest is much more painful than just dying. That’s why I often see death as a super fucking solution, because everything would just end and that sadness would have to take another place.
When I finished working, I went for some sun, went back inside, lay down. My mother beside me, worried, wanting to do something to help me. But, I know that nobody can help me. Only I can. But it's like having a super heavy block on top of me preventing me from getting up and rescuing Tomas. So, I cried a little. I went to the living room, lay on my mother's lap. I felt that I owed her somehow. Then I went to the room again, to sleep. My mother insisted several times that I take a Rivotril and I denied it. I slept, woke up to eat and went back to my room wanting to go back to sleep. And I think it was this time that I agreed to take that medicine. And it was fascinating and sad at the same time, because my body no longer wanted to sleep, but my mind did. I just wanted to disappear and sleep was the closest I had to it. I woke up today, sad again, where I cried several times. I wanted to take more Rivotril and embark on a cycle of taking medicine to sleep and consequently sleep and survive like that until one day my body couldn't take it anymore and I just died. In this process all the only moments of sadness would be when I was awake. And they would be shorter and shorter. So, wonderful. But in return for all of this, my state of numbness would only make me delay my life and remain behind in relation to all those people I compare myself with. And, honestly, I wish you a "go to the ass" for all of you. How can you have such a perfect life? Of course, I've always been told that no matter how good their lives seem, everyone has problems. The second time I woke up on Monday night, I looked at the instagram of a boy who lives on the coast of Santa Catarina. Blond, tall, athletic, surfer, etc., etc., etc. Looking at his feed, I just felt like even bigger rubbish, comparing his reality and mine. Every time I looked out of my kitchen window I tried to imagine what it would be like to look out of his kitchen window, and how different our worlds are and how after all this his life is infinitely better than mine.
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I’m extremely tired of getting up, working, doing anything. I’m just tired of living. That third-year boy from high school who had several dreams and who unknowingly built a moodboard of the life he wanted in his notebook just left, died, escaped. Now there’s me. A guy who several people can say how talented he is and I don’t know what, but he can’t understand any of it and spends most of his life thinking about what he wants but doesn’t really know what he wants, he just knows how to compare himself to the perfect life from other people and is too tired and discouraged to achieve all of this. I just wanted to have the courage to end it all at once. And I hope, vehemently, that there is nothing after death. Not heaven, not hell, not purgatory, or anything. Because if hell exists, I’m almost sure I’m going there, right? After all, I wasn’t strong enough to fight my sexuality and remain a church that taught me that it’s okay to be gay, but don’t live as one. Fight it and you every day and live unhappy, but nothing to complain about your life, huh? We don’t want to know if we don’t have any training to help you, but make sure we are all with you, while you’re here, of course, because if you give up, fuck you. If you can’t stand fighting yourself every day and still pretend it’s okay, you’re being ungrateful to complain.
Today, while I was showering, I imagined myself in front of each one of them, saying that yes, they have a little responsibility for everything that is happening to me, and I said how I hate them, how I feel angry that they have been a bunch of assholes. And I feel sorry for all the people who will still fall for everything they say and will suffer as I suffered inside. Because they were with me while I was there, now fuck it.
I just don't feel like fighting to have the life of the people I envy, because while I'm fucking myself to get it, they already have it all. I want to have the life I dream of now, not when I'm old. I thought everything would be resolved after I accepted myself sexually and was fine with it. But it hasn't really changed.
How do people manage to live the same life for years and not go crazy? How are they content with what they have? Like? How to fight against all the physical and mental fatigue that surrounds us every day? How to try to find a light at the end of the tunnel? And how can you not be sad that you are wasting time having to do this while several people with their perfect little lives do not need to do this? How can we not see death as a perfect solution to all the sadness that settles in your chest and won't go away for anything? That sadness that is twice my weight and makes it harder to even get out of bed? How to spend years doing exactly the same thing and not go crazy? Ah, but so-and-so you do it. So-and-so is so-and-so and congratulations to him. I'm tired because tomorrow I go to work, then I go to sleep, then I go to work, then I go to sleep, then I go to work, then I go to sleep, then I go to work, then I go to sleep, then I go to work, then I'm going to sleep, then I'm going to work, then ...
Wow, what a wonderful life, isn't it? Congratulations to those who had this idea.
