To be honest I'm probably going to end up killing myself in the next few years.
I can tell I'm gonna be one of those 40 year olds who still lives at home and hasn't gotten married. I have no idea what I want I don't even know if I want kids or not. I don't know what I want my career to be and even if I did I wouldn't be able to afford university.
I don't understand how life is supposed to work out when the cost of living is ******* ridiculous.
No one supports me or is happy for me when I try to improve my life, and I'm never happy for myself either
I'm depressed, anxious, and every day is a constant war with my own mind and I HATE it. Getting better is to hard and I shouldn't have to go through all this anyways.
I ******* hate myself and I ******* hate my life and I have no idea why people think life is worth living.
Life is ******* hard and that's about it, I'm ******* miserable

No one knows what it's like to be me and if they spent a day in my shoes they would be so surprised, I go through ******* hell and no one even realizes this
Rosaalie Rosaalie
22-25, F
2 Responses Dec 23, 2014

I think I am going to die alone as well, and even if I do, life is still worth living because we probably only get one. Even if I fail at life at least I gave myself the chance to experience it. My friend once told me that our purpose in life is to live for other people, to make them happy. I do not know your situation but I am sure that at least one person out there really loves you, even if they don't tell you.

I agree with and really appreciate almost everything you just said..The only part about what you just said that I don't like is that we live for other people. I don't think that's a good enough reason to keep living. If I was planning for sure to kill myself I would be at the point where anything is better than living in this world. It sometimes even makes me angry that other people would be so hurt if I died. Because it's my life and my choice. I am at a constant war with my own mind every second of every god damn ******* day and there's no way I can even explain it or express it and no one will ever know what I'm going through and it's torture. No one deserves a life like mine. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. If people understood this and I was ready to die I would want them to understand and realize it's the best thing for me. Like an animal that's suffering and there's nothing you can do but put it down. They should have the same kind of compassion towards my situation.

The Despisers of the Body
To the despisers of the body will I speak my word. I wish them neither to learn afresh, nor teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own bodies,—and thus be dumb.
"Body am I, and soul"—so saith the child. And why should one not speak like children?
But the awakened one, the knowing one, saith: "Body am I entirely, and nothing more; and soul is only the name of something in the body."
The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one sense, a war and a peace, a flock and a shepherd.
An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother, which thou callest "spirit"—a little instrument and plaything of thy big sagacity.
"Ego," sayest thou, and art proud of that word. But the greater thing—in which thou art unwilling to believe—is thy body with its big sagacity; it saith not "ego," but doeth it.
What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth, hath never its end in itself. But sense and spirit would fain persuade thee that they are the end of all things: so vain are they.
Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit: behind them there is still the Self. The Self seeketh with the eyes of the senses, it hearkeneth also with the ears of the spirit.
Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it compareth, mastereth, conquereth, and destroyeth. It ruleth, and is also the ego's ruler.
Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother, there is a mighty lord, an unknown sage—it is called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy body.
There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy best wisdom. And who then knoweth why thy body requireth just thy best wisdom?
Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud prancings. "What are these prancings and flights of thought unto me?" it saith to itself. "A by-way to my purpose. I am the leading-string of the ego, and the prompter of its notions."
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pain!" And thereupon it suffereth, and thinketh how it may put an end thereto—and for that very purpose it is meant to think.
The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pleasure!" Thereupon it rejoiceth, and thinketh how it may ofttimes rejoice—and for that very purpose it is meant to think.
To the despisers of the body will I speak a word. That they despise is caused by their esteem. What is it that created esteeming and despising and worth and will?
The creating Self created for itself esteeming and despising, it created for itself joy and woe. The creating body created for itself spirit, as a hand to its will.
Even in your folly and despising ye each serve your Self, ye despisers of the body. I tell you, your very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away from life.
No longer can your Self do that which it desireth most:—create beyond itself. That is what it desireth most; that is all its fervour.
But it is now too late to do so:—so your Self wisheth to succumb, ye despisers of the body.
To succumb—so wisheth your Self; and therefore have ye become despisers of the body. For ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.
And therefore are ye now angry with life and with the earth. And unconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt.
I go not your way, ye despisers of the body! Ye are no bridges for me to the Superman!—
Thus spake Zarathustra.

To succumb—so wisheth your Self; and therefore have ye become despisers of the body. For ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.
And therefore are ye now angry with life and with the earth. And unconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt.
I go not your way, ye despisers of the body! Ye are no bridges for me to the Superman!—
Thus spake Zarathustra.

- Friedrich Nietzsche