Confessions of a Suicide

I never wanted to exist. I hate my mother’s eggs; I hate my father’s sperms; as much as I hate their fertility. As a matter of fact, I hate human fertility in general.
What have we made of ourselves? What have we become? What have we to offer to another lost generation, and the one after that, and the one after that, and the one after that? “Copy of a copy of a copy”?
In all humility, perhaps, ‘non-existence’.

gene-therapy.jpg

Me: Life!
He: Fucking life it is.
Me: Can’t end it, can we?
He: Can’t end that which never started.

cell.jpg

Does it have to be this way?

Louis C.K. : I don’t think life is that important. It’s just not. It is not. People get too excited about life. (…) Life is okay. I like life. I like it. I don’t need it. I’d be fine without it. I like life, though. I do. You know how much I like life? I have never killed myself. That’s how much I like it. That’s exactly how much I like it, with a razor-thin margin. I like it precisely enough to not kill myself. It’s an option, though. It’s totally an option. (…)
You are not supposed to talk about suicide, even to your shrink. (…) But you should be able to talk about it. The whole world is just made of people who didn’t kill themselves today. That’s who’s here.

Life is not that important

birth-and-death

How do we function?

Jim Jefferies: We drink because we fucking have to. (…) We drink because life is shit and you got to do whatever you can to get through the fucking day.
Why we drink?

Funny-alcohol-cartoon-picture-with-saying

What makes you human?
Choice. Autonomy. Empathy. Birthing.

Seriously?
. . .

What would you like to be?
An automaton.

Why is that?
Emotions are exhausting. So are human interactions and what they call “relationships”.

You have a choice, dont you?
Yes. I do. But at what cost? It feels like an unfair deal I made with the devil, for momentary “pleasures” that help me function, one day, after another, after another, after another.

What is the deal?
Mephistopheles and I signed a contract.
I gave him depression. He gave me medication.
I gave him inhibitions. He gave me alcohol.
I gave him intimacy. He gave me sex.
I gave him relationships. He gave me socialization.
I gave him acceptance. He gave me independence.
I gave him love. He gave me menstruation.
I gave him performativity. He gave me loneliness.

Do you think this is worth it?
As worthy as it can get, as long as it can sustain. Until one day he eats me up and there is nothing left to bite into anymore.

What is the process like?
I am still alive, so, you know, it has kept me on the other side of the razor-thin margin, so far. Every day I get closer to the day when I won’t be myself.
I am a social construction, you see. I don’t exist.
I will either deconstruct or destruct.
And if I have any strength left – construct and reconstruct.
“Emigrate or degenerate”. Thats the human condition.

“Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep”?
“You will be required to do wrong no matter where you go. It is the basic condition of life, to be required to violate your own identity.

Quite an experience to live in fear, isn’t it? That’s what it’s like to live as a slave.
I have seen things you people wouldn’t believe. (…) All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain.

Time to die.

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1 Comment

  1. One, presently it seems to me one must have faith, in whatever that rescues ordinary from mundane, to live rather than just subsist. Two, the Beatrice cartoon is pretty cool. Three, you should definitely experiment with psychotropic substances, if you haven’t already had a fair share, before you…

    Liked by 1 person

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