Suicide note from the living
The following words were written from a deeply suicidal state of mind, at some point in late May or early June of 2017.
It was intended as a suicide note.
In a welcome twist of irony, ventilating all of these thoughts and feelings through writing was a cathartic enough act to subdue the part of me that was ready to end it all.
After writing it, I fell asleep and woke up the next day with enough hope to go on living.
I share it now as an honest expression from the edge of a proverbial cliff, overlooking an endless abyss.
It comes from a tired, hateful, defeated place.
It’s a piece of the puzzle of my life.
Maybe you’ll relate to some of it. Or maybe nothing could be more foreign.
Either way, it’s an opportunity to build relation and understanding.
Anyway, here we go.
No mincing words.
If you’re reading this, I’m dead.
And I suppose you may think that’s a terrible tragedy.
If I were born a cow or pig, you would pay for my torture & execution, and then you’d fucking eat my flesh.
Don’t you realize?
The same spark of life that’s in you and I is also in cows and pigs. Fish and chicken. Mice and fleas.
Threaten any of these beings with violence, and what happens?
They try to survive…
One thing for sure that every sentient being has in common is a will to live…
If you don’t care about other beings’ will to live, then don’t you fucking dare act like my death is a tragedy.
I can’t stand how brainwashed this world is.
No, not the world. Just the people.
Society doesn’t stand up to even the most basic critical thinking and scrutiny.
If more people cared, we could come together and change it.
Change is not a pie-in-the-sky ideal.
But people are lazy. They don’t like to think through their own contradictions to find congruency with coherency.
People are so focused on judging and categorizing others that they fail to strike a balance within.
Obviously, I’m no exception.
I’ve chosen to end my life, because I’m paralyzed in my judgment of the external, to the point I’ve run out of hope that I’ll ever be able to find a way to function in this world.
In 2015, I was for the briefest of summers, happier than I’ve ever been in my life.
But the means and method of the happiness was stigmatized, and resulted in total alienation and abandonment from my family and friends.
The two years since then has been the loneliest, most alienating and depressing time of my life. And this is after 36 years of sadness, chaos, not fitting in, & not functioning in society.
My life has been a shit show since before I was born.
My mom has made it a point to let me know time and time again, I’ve never made life easy for her, even in the womb.
Unquestioningly, I’ve spent more of my life miserable than content or happy.
And the thing is, I know I have a lot to offer.
I value my way of thinking, my philosophical nature, my ideas and ambitions and compassion for all living things.
But I don’t fit.
There is no place for me here. I’m an anomaly, born in the wrong time and place.
I don’t belong here. I never did.
Don’t act like I do. Don’t act like you cared for me and understood me more than you did. It’s that kind of inauthenticity that fucking boils my ass to begin with.
My death is not a tragedy.
Tragedy is the inequality that you’ve accepted as a way of life.
What’s tragic is your fetish for money and living lives that humans were never meant for, to distract yourselves from all the things that really matter.
Ethnocentrism is tragic. Nationalism.
The idea that some people matter more than others based on wealth or location.
What’s tragic is the delusion in this world.
My suicide is a simple case of cause & effect.
The cause is that I did the best I could with what I was given, and in the end it didn’t matter. That’s the tragic part. My suicide is the happy ending to all that noise.
At last, I can get some peace.
Can’t you see the good in that?
If you think I’m just being selfish, then fuck you.
You don’t know what it’s like to be me. If you did, you’d be writing this.
I’ve spent my life caring about others. Maybe too much. I’ve learned to love terrorists. I’ve striven to empathize with beings from every walk of life. I.Fucking.Care.
And now, I’m just ready to sleep.
Happy trails to you ‘till we meet again.
Originally published at Andrew L. Hicks.