I Haven’t Chosen to Die, Which Means I Have Chosen to Live
Image credit: On the Sweetwater near the Devil’s Gate (1860) Albert Bierstadt (American, 1830-1902). Public domain.
“It seems like you’re carrying the weight of the entire world with you. Sometimes, I just get so incredibly sad being around you. I can’t deal with it.”
I remember the first time I heard this sentiment expressed by someone close. I was only 20. It was the time in my life when I was supposed to have had more energy and enthusiasm for life than at any other, according to common cultural wisdom. Was I a depressed person? I hadn’t really thought so. Deep and contemplative, certainly. Reflective but not what I would have considered to be overtly sad. After all, didn’t all people spend long stretches of time ruminating about the state of the world and their place within it? That’s just a normal part of being human. Right?
But the more I would allow people to get close to me, to see sides of me I usually kept hidden from public view, the more they would accuse me of being depressed or disturbed. The interesting qualities that first attracted many of them, such as my capacity for deep thought and stimulating conversations in even the most ordinary circumstances, began to push them away. The more of myself I revealed to the people I cared about, the more uncomfortable I always seemed to make them. And I found true sustained intimacy with others bordering on impossible.
I have long taken the prospect of killing myself quite seriously. At times, the thought pops up every few days, at the very least. As ghastly as that sounds, a lot of people would benefit in a spiritual or philosophical manner by allowing themselves to undergo a similar kind of recurring ideation about the worth of their own lives and the merit of willfully continuing them. Withstanding the discomfort of such rumination, a certain type of mind might think more clearly about what it finds meaningful and the direction it will take with the time it has left to find and maintain that meaning. Furthermore, people capable of considering the end of existence in detail might start to feel less like victims of circumstance because each day becomes a conscious choice to persist with living. Whatever troubles they encounter are troubles they have decided are worth the burden.
Every day of my life that I have so far contemplated the possibility of self-termination, I have made the clear choice against it. After all, even a single time having made the opposite choice, that self-termination would be preferable to self-continuation, would permanently end my life. The writing of these words would be impossible. Just one instance of deciding that death is better than life would be enough to end the debate forever, as I would be unable to argue with myself about it any longer once I was dead. Compare that with the countless ongoing instances where contemplation has, so far, brought me to the informed decision that life as I know it is still worth experiencing.
Often, I have pondered if, one day, circumstances will change and I will finally make the opposite choice—the choice to end my life of my own rational volition. This line of inquiry causes me to seriously consider what would have to change about my perception of my life for my preferences to shift and for me to start believing that the cessation of experience would be better. Becoming honest enough with myself to try to answer this question led to more intimate self-knowledge than I otherwise could have known.
The principal trait that stops me from self-termination, the stubborn quality that keep me alive, is curiosity. “I wonder what I will become if I survive this. How might the burden of all this suffering empower me?” This thought, more than any other, has kept me alive through all my idle ideation about ending my existence. The pain has contributed to my development and made me kind. It gives me greater capacity to empathize with others because their suffering does not unsettle me. I am not intimidated by the depths they reach. And because I know how terrible life can be, I never want to make it harder than it needs to be for others.
Laziness is also a factor in keeping me alive. I’m convinced that if I owned a gun or a similarly quick, convenient, and painless way of eliminating myself, it is likely that I would have done so by now. I know that I am clever and industrious enough to devise other methods of an easy exit, but they are not plans I am ever in the mood to put into motion in the moments when pushing the “off button” of life seems most reasonable.
The self-destructive feeling always passes. But it also always returns, no matter how well things are going for me. I do not believe my recurring deathly state is the result of a broken brain or an undiagnosed psychological disorder. In fact, I believe it is the natural and inevitable outcome of operating at the fullest authentic expression of who I am in the modern world (or my perception of it). I have valid reasons for wanting to leave this place, but curiosity about the possibility of being wrong keeps me looking for counterevidence, wondering what might come next in spite of all that has come before. Laziness stops me from following through with taking my life any time it seems like the best way to end the torment of having to live in lack of what is essential to my fulfillment.
Incidentally, I have never been inclined toward self-mutilation for cathartic purposes. I never saw the point in idle self-destruction. I am no masochist, and it brings me no pleasure to indulge in physical pain. I am also neither a showboater nor an attention seeker. I do not talk about my psychological pain and inclinations toward self-termination to garner sympathy or any other form of attention. I do it because it is true and needs to be expressed. I do it because I believe there are others who will find value in my honesty, either because they feel something similar or for the new perspective on something never directly experienced.
Despite my ongoing suicidal ideation, I do not consider my life miserable or disadvantaged. I generally enjoy my time on Earth much more than most people ever get to. I have had a greater variety of interesting life experiences, relationships, and professional success than most people. I have managed to circumnavigate, obviate, or minimize many of the recurring stressors of life that occupy people’s attention. By most metrics, I live an extraordinarily comfortable life with few pressing concerns. I do not suffer from material poverty, bodily pain, or oppression.
In my struggle, I concluded rather early that there were only two viable paths for me: I would either kill myself or live what I considered an exceptional human life. I thought that as long as I was still alive and had not yet terminated my existence, I might as well do something important, something kind, with my time. I would have to understand my ideas of what an exceptional version of myself would be once I explore my gifts and limitations. Of the two acceptable paths, the choice to live would require a great amount more courage than the choice to die.
If I am going to kill myself, it should result from a conscious choice and honest, stable-minded inquiry into the merits of doing so. The choice to remain alive should be the same. Neither a default existence nor default non-existence would be a worthwhile option for someone like me.