There is a myth we tell ourselves,
that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem,
but I know better.
I have seen the darkness creep in,
a drop at a time,
filling the cup until it overflows,
leaving nothing but the stain of unending pain.
There is nothing temporary about this descent,
this slow spiral where the air grows thin
and every breath is a struggle,
where each step forward feels like
dragging my body through thick mud.
It is not a fleeting thought
but a steady companion,
always there in the back of my mind,
a reminder that the suffering has nowhere to go but forward.
I am different.
Neurodivergent in a world that was never made for me,
struggling against an unyielding current,
hoping to find a place to stand
where I can feel whole.
But the world does not bend,
it does not open its arms
to those like me.
My body is at war with itself.
A genetic disorder unknown to many,
worsening each day,
my joints grinding like rocks against each other,
the pain sharp and constant,
a reminder that time is not my ally.
I know more about my disorder
than any doctor ever will,
and the pain never stops,
never relents,
just continues its slow, steady march.
And then there is the world that turns its back on me.
A transgender person in a society
that tells me I do not belong,
that I do not deserve to exist as I am.
Every day a battle,
every step a fight for my right to breathe
without fear,
without hatred.
The thoughts come to me as a reprieve,
a promise that there is an end to the struggle.
Because the pain is endless,
because I am different,
because the world will never change fast enough
to make me feel safe,
to make me feel wanted.
These are the facts.
Death is the only escape from this landscape,
the only way to stop the relentless ache,
the only end to the noise that never quiets,
the only way to stop feeling like I am breaking
into pieces too small to be put back together.
But suicide is not a momentary choice,
it is the last act in a long, drawn-out play.
It is the breaking point,
the final decision after a long, endless journey
through suffering and solitude.
It is not a fleeting moment of unhappiness,
but a consequence of years spent
holding up a burden too heavy to bear.
No one arrives at suicide without first
walking a long road of torment,
of enduring pain and rejection,
of losing themselves in the depths of despair.
And sure, there are things that can help,
things that can offer hope
if there is still something left to hold onto.
But the truth is—
this is not a brief passage,
this is not a temporary storm.
This is the slow, inevitable destruction
of a person who has had too much to carry,
and no place to lay it down.
We must stop pretending
that suicide is a simple answer.
It is the last act,
after a lifetime of living with questions
that have no answers.
And I,
like many others,
am left in the silence,
trying to find a way to live with it.
shit hit like a brick ngl thanks for sharing <3
Hopefully that brick didn't hit anything to important >.<
No worries haha I can relate to some of the things you said is all