Depression: Romanticising suicide

There is a topic that ‘triggers’ me.

Suicide.

If I come across some news about someone who has been found dead due to suicide, I feel bad for them. But also, I feel at odds with myself and feel like a failure in my own ventures towards suicide in the past.

I know it’s not a ‘romantic’ ‘glitzy’ thing. But I guess I view their willingness to go through with it as courage and strength. Some people say suicide is a weakness, but I know from experience this isn’t true. Though I wish I could feel the same way as those people, it’s an ignorance is bliss thing. But it’s too late, I’ve already been there in that dark place too many times to un know it now.

But it causes a dilemma because it means that as a result of knowing it takes courage and strength I don’t see it as such a bad thing. I mean, I see that it’s bad and that it is devastating for the families involved. But in the end, my conviction that it takes courage and strength to do the act makes it have a sort of appeal to me, I guess an almost heroic appeal to me. And if I had started to go through an okay phase, I find it ‘triggers’ me back into thought patterns of death and suicide.

It is, I admit an almost childish idea of, “How come they got to do it and I didn’t?” “Why was I such a failure with my attempt?” Etc…

Maybe this is the real ‘toxic masculinity’ the one that organically produces itself in a culture that means men can’t die through some other form of…. battle. So, we die by our own hands instead. It seems to me, everyone is born to die but none more so than men. And I can wish it was simply a cultural social construct that came out of… nowhere all I want, but it has a basis in biology. It seems to me a life without a struggle for survival becomes a struggle in of itself, except the wounds that are inflicted, are not from another man’s sword but from his own blade.

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