No need to worry, I am still deeply depressed.
Yet a new idea has been sparked up in me: I was hanging out at my best friends´place when she was mainly talking about how bad life is currently going and me agreeing, when she mentioned that her plan has always been running away to canada. She listed some benefits, but she mainly got me with leaving everything behind. Even while we were talking about it, I realized how much this appealed to me. She said that she would be ready in two years, with her finishing her apprenticeship.
The idea stuck, and every time I think about it, it seems more reasonable. Sure, I don´t mind my life here, it is pretty liveable, but on the other hand, my depression is still here, and I wouldn´t mind dying in an accident. I instantly thought about all the nature, and I thought how much being a ranger or forester or something with nature would be my thing.
My life is good, don´t get me wrong. I am living with my parents, can and am mostly dependent on them, earning a couple bucks here and there with tutoring, having a relationship…So I should have no reason to complain, right?… Yeah. I guess my life is not bad. But life does not give me anything to live for except for the inconvenience of my death, and the trouble I would give everyone. All the suffering, all the lifes my death would impact…
Sometimes I think there is a god. Every day fatal car crashes happen, people are being diagnosed with fatal illnesses, drown, get electrocuted, die in war, overdose ,get shot… yet most depressed seem to live on, suffering daily, wishing to die.
Writing about death, suicide, those topics arises strange feelings in me. On one hand, I believe that once the brain is dead, the mind just stops. I just hope no godly interference makes me life takes me up to heaven, or reincarnates me as a dog and so on, eternal suffering. I wish for that feeling, as in this moment, I will just stop thinking. Like sleep, without dreams, just for ever. On the other hand, I have to think about all those that care about me, and I care about, and how suicide is the most selfish thing. Well, for fucks sake, it is only about me, and there is literally no more selfish act possible after. I once read(in some Nick Hornby Novel probably) that every death affects at least 120 people. Writing down some, not counting family, I guess around six people would be deeply affected. Adding family, other contacts and other social organisations I am active in or at least have been a part of, I can easily understand how this number accumulates.
Out of those 120 people around ten people will be affected the hardest, not being able to live on, with me being an integral part. They will never get over my death. Tears are coming up as I write this. Another twenty maybe are also heavily affected, but these do not have the strong emotional bonding to me, and do not know as many things about me. Another fourty will be affected, and show up possibly even to my funeral. Although those will probably not suffer as much, as they have little emotional bonding to me. The other fifty will notice, maybe suffer, but will live on, keeping me in the back of their head. Honorable mentions: My ex-girlfriend, who has apparently changed into a bitch, but will still take notice looking back at our relationship, all those countless women who fell in love with me and have never had a chance because I was too shy or too blind. Also, my dog might suffer.
So suicide is not an option because others might live on happier with out me killing myself.
Which leads me inevitably to kanuckistan, where I might rule upon my own empire of dirt. Moving to canada makes me seem like a grown-up, who knows what he is doing, who is brave, strong, and independent. I will become an anecdote which will be brought up on conventions, and I will hopefully fill their hearts with joy when they think about me. Additionally, I can start something there, find a job as a ranger, or maybe hiking guide, not having to measure myself against those who have archieved more or higher grades, it will be only me and nature. And if I die there, people will think I died happily.
Of course, I my trusty depression will not leave me, but a new place to start all over again might change some things, and hey, suicide is not location-depending.
Random Strangers life 