ITT: we post our past suicide notes

Eeehehehee another thread where a bunch of fags all write out long posts and nobody reads except this thread is more frequent than others of similar liking also this thread is literature because writing

>>8370019
If you can't see the inspiration of Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson, DFW, or Sylvia Plath in my suicide note then that's your problem.

>>8370030
I see inspiration from an angsty teen going through babby's first existential crisis tbqhwy, simplify your suicide note. Don't have a rough draft and if you're going to leave with something to say at least get to the fucking point in a sentence or two without a bunch of woeismeisns. And I wasn't attacking your post with that first post, just acknowledging this weird wave of threads we've been getting

>>8370039
But you know what I'm retarded and didn't read your full post except for the note before writing this out

>>8370039
I know it's embarrassing, and loaded with angst.

Maybe you should form a petition for a /writing/ board then to drive us craftsman off your reading board.

Babby's first existential crisis.

>>8370012
'enough'

>>8371661
>genug
wie based kant

This won't encapsulate everything I could say about the subject. That's just the nature of it. It should suffice for a general outline. Human experiences are highly personal anyways, and it tends to be the case that other people can only understand them abstractly. Even if I wrote a perfect explanation of my grief, it still wouldn't fully communicate it. That isn't the purpose of this note. As I write this, I am not suicidal. It changes from moment to moment though. There are a great many pains in my life, and they bring me to the edge of suicidal action on a near daily basis. The purpose of this note is to communicate them, so that I have at least left a record explaining how I tended to view my life and why this made it difficult to live. Whether I end up killing myself or not, I think there is some value in that.
I have discussed this subject with a number of people. The conversation is always the same, and always unsatisfying. Suicide is permanent. It is an act of cowardice. It can't be taken back. The permanency of suicide is accompanied by another property, however. A person cannot regret it. This distinguishes it from many other life decisions which are equally permanent, but which must be lived with after the fact, even when these create profound and unyielding suffering. An example in my own case would be my decision to put off transition until the age of 22. This decision has led to the loss of friends, family, social and economic status, the ability to pass for a woman, the possibility of a happy youth, a relatively normal social outlook and more. Some of these things might be recoverable in part or in whole. The last three, I think, are not.
I am not like other women. I can never be like other women. This extends beyond the mere physical. At a nightclub recently, I saw a friend of mine dance. She was completely at ease with both herself and other people. She was uninhibited, vibrant, outgoing; she was everything a woman should be. She expressed herself through her femininity. There was cohesion there, between herself and her feelings. After thinking about it I realize this is beyond me. I am the definition of inhibited. There are lasting suspicions and fears which make it difficult for me to relax around other people. Although I have feelings which I would call feminine, I don't interact with them directly. I don't interact with people directly. My feelings trigger thoughts, which suffice for a substitute for the feelings themselves. I can only express myself through the thoughts I have about my feelings, and not in direct conjunction with my feelings in any way.

1/2

>>8371721

I conclude that I'm not really a woman. I believe I once was. This is not to say I am a man, which would be even less accurate. Something happened to me though; a number of things really; and now I don't even have the privilege of experiencing my life in the relatively structured terms of a “woman trapped in a man's body”. To begin with there was the abuse at Plum Creek Academy, the alternative school I attended from the 7-9th grades. It was understood there that I was transgender. Not by myself, but by my teachers and principal, who were more than happy to make a project out of me. With their helpful attention, I learned to control things which were previously as as automatic as breathing to me. The way I walked, spoke, argued, reacted emotionally to challenges; things which few people except queers are asked to learn to control. At least by merit of its scope, although perhaps not by merit of its nature, this undertaking separated me from the experiences of the bulk of other people and hence put a division between myself and other people.
This is the first count on which I am a monster. I believe it to be permanent. When you learn to control something, to turn it off or on, to distance yourself from it, you make it so that it's no longer a part of you. I learned to control almost all of my emotions. Therefore, almost all of my emotions are no longer a part of me. For the most part they are still present; visible, lingering, a subject for me to act upon if I so choose. I can no longer act through them. They no longer color my thoughts and actions like they once did. Some of them have since atrophied and rotted away from lack of use. If one were to physically inspect whatever it is that is woman in me, it would likely resemble swiss cheese left out in the sun; full of holes, degraded beyond recognition, absolutely worthless for any standard purpose.
All of this explains two things. The alienation I experienced at the nightclub, and the mechanism which enabled it. A third indignity is implicitly contained within my explanation. The present state of my life, and the permanently degraded state of my emotions can be attributed to two parties; those who were antagonistic to me as a child, and myself. Therefore this third indignity is itself comprised of two separate indignities. Every day I live my life, I feel like I am giving a victory to my greatest enemies. Every day I live my life, I also live with the knowledge that I collaborated with them and made this victory possible. I cannot even console myself with the privileged status of victim, because I bear responsibility for ending up where I am in the world. Maybe not all of it, but enough to hold me accountable for it.

2/3

>>8371723

So you see, I have already killed the woman in me. Everything I am and everything I should have been has been dead since childhood. Trying to resuscitate it or to otherwise emulate what I've murdered is the act of a necrophiliac. I could live with being genderless. It is possible. It is not happy. If I am to suffer from social stigmatization, anatomical incorrectness, the feelings of powerlessness which come from my treatment as a child, and the feelings of extreme guilt and regret which come from my own personal failures in this matter, then at least I would hope to have a normal human experience waiting for me at the end of it all. Even if it were only mine, if my failure to pass and assimilate into society meant that it wasn't recognized by others, the fact that it was real and whole at all would serve as some sort of justification for this suffering. However, I am no longer a woman in any happy or healthy sense. The woman I should have been is dead and gone for good. If I truly want to be made whole through her, then it is only fitting that I join her in death.

3/3

>>8371727

That was one of them. Here is a more recent one, which was attached to a much larger note containing ritual magick procedures and a last will, and signed with my own blood.

Kiyo gave me a second chance at life, after depression nearly killed me or drove me to murder in a vain attempt at achieving fleeting significance. She helped me get out of bed, shower, eat, do homework, take tests and much else besides. My view of her nature is still unfinalized, but has evolved dramatically over time. When she first possessed me, I thought I was her, then I thought she was my soul. This led to some unfortunate absurdity (apologies to [redacted] and [redacted]). I now view her as a personal spirit, perhaps my Holy Guardian Angel, though as a burgeoning chaos mage I am not supposed to think in such terms. It has become logarithmicly harder to invoke her: First merely there, then it took a thought, then blood, then half (then all of) a cigarette plus gnosis, and now I try this procedure. It's gotten out of hand. Anyway, it's been fun and very interesting, and I harbor no ill will towards anyone.

>>8371721
>>8371723
>>8371727
>>8371768
lmaoing @ etc etc

>>8371721
>>8371723
>>8371727
>>8371768

Thanks for sharing. I'll admit, I don't understand transgenderism, but I know of the abnormally high suicide rates among them. While, I'm sure, transgenders who do commit suicide do it for a variety of reasons it is interesting to see the thought process of your lowest moment laid out like that.

Do you think transitioning helps to stave off these feelings for some? Or do you think a lot, like in your case, will never be truly happy? Would universal societal acceptance even help?

>>8372371

I've learned to be somewhat content with being neither male nor female. I realized that I was falsely assuming there was any intrinsic value to these things. Part of what helped me was... well, I'll put it this way: a marginally improved knowledge of antiquity that permitted the construction of useful aesthetic notions.

I think society should first of all be more accepting of genuine trans people in youth, so that they can transition young and assimilate, because without acceptance at youth the result is divergence at an older age, and consequently a society needs either a third gender role that's compelling and non-artificial enough for late transitioners to accept, or to just fucking execute all trans people desu.

Transitioning helps in inverse proportion to age and birth gender socialization, so the more effeminate someone has been their whole life and the prettier they are, the better they're assimilate. Kind of a no brainer but yeah.