- Joined
- Aug 9, 2022
There was definitely a point at which he tried to get up. Sat up, eyes open, reached for the door, but didn't have the strength. I highly doubt that was a convulsion.
Yeah I have also lost people, and among them are people who I miss dearly, probably much more dearly than you miss your friend, but the overwhelming emotion is that they are free from their suffering, because their lives were a living hell. I could not in good conscience even wish they were still alive knowing what they were going through, let alone condemn them for leaving. I have lived through the grief, and I have watched the people closest to them live through the grief, and compared to what they had to contend with, it's nothing.
That literally does not matter. Nobody seriously contemplating suicide gives a shit about this, what a ridiculous thing to care about. The only question is whether any reasonable expectation of what your future might look like is a life you want to live. Sometimes the answer is no.
Okay. So is demanding that someone continue to suffer through something that makes them want to die so that you don't have to feel some type of way. Objectively. Like, I don't know how you can look at that proposition and think that the grief of losing a loved one is worse than a lifetime of indefinite continued suffering, unless you have never witnessed indefinite suffering that is worse than grief.
Good.
You may notice that despite my ostensible blackpilling, I am still fucking here. That is partially because one of the things that gave me the strength to get through was knowing that I did have that option, that I always have that option, that I'm never trapped, that I always have a choice. The knowledge that no matter what, if at any given time my lot in life becomes truly unbearable, that I have the means to end it, was the peace of mind I needed in order to be able to commit to courses of action that looked unbearable, and bear them. People telling me that I can't kill myself and that I should feel guilty and ashamed for even thinking about it only dissuaded me from talking about it, eroded my ability to trust or seek help and furthered my isolation. The ability to face excruciating things head on with the knowledge that an alternative is always holstered in my waistband, and the genuine compassion of the rare few who understood what I was going through and didn't judge me for it, is what gave me the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other, because even though the road in front of me looked fucked, the next step was never quite as bad as the bullet. Sometimes that's still what keeps me alive. If that sounds foreign or paradoxical to you, maybe reflect on why.
Understand that I'm not trying to change your opinion on suicide, because I don't really give a shit about your opinion on suicide. What I'm trying to do is help you be more effective in helping people by illustrating that this argument you think is helpful is in actuality wet dogshit. There is never going to be a scenario in which you say "think of ur family" and the person turns and says "wow you know I never thought of it that way", that's retarded. All you're doing is telegraphing that you really have no idea what they're feeling, that you can't empathize with them, that you're judging them, kicking them while they're down, and dissuading them from trying to talk to anybody. People need to be able to talk about suicide without getting publicly shamed or involuntarily detained. That's how you solve problems: by talking about them. Otherwise you're not solving anything, you're just teaching a dog not to bark.
