Tag: suicide

  • Letter to Allah.

    blackaurora:

    Dear Allah,

      You know I love you.  I love you so much.  You’re the only source of hope and positivity in my life.  Allah, I have learned so much about islam and You and myself because of this incredible pain that you’ve laid on my shoulders to test me.  I used to feel angry at reading about how I’m supposed to be thankful for the tests you give me because I thought that they were too much.  But then I saw what You mean.  I saw how differently and how much more clearly I can see and appreciate my blessings after having gone through this agonizing pain.  And so yes, I am thankful for having gone through it and I am honored that you think highly enough of me to test me with this incredible burden.

    But Allah.. Please, take it away now.  I cannot handle this burden anymore.  I do not want to spend my days hoping to be able to cry because my agony is so deep that I can’t even do that anymore.  I don’t want my “good days” to be so empty anymore.

    I know, my Lord, that this life is temporary and fleeting and the End is what matters.  I also know that my pain is nothing compared to what millions of others go/have gone through.. nothing compared to the struggles of the blessed Prophets.  But I am weak, my Lord.  I promise, I will try to make you proud.  I know you know how hard I struggle with various things each day.  Of course you know, you are the All-Knowing one.  

    But Allah, I need your blessings now.  My Lord, I am honored to be a bearer of your tests but my strength is failing now.  Please lift the burdens before I break.  Please offer me some relief.  Please ease the agonies of my soul.  Please free me of my afflictions.  Please, Lord, grant me some comfort. 

    I ask for your forgiveness for being so weak.  And I hope that you will shower me with your Great Mercy, ya Ar-Rahman, even though I may not deserve it. 

    O one who loves me more than 70 mothers would, my Lord, dry my tears now.  Heal my soul.  Cure my illnesses.  Ease my bodily pains.  Ease my mental afflictions.  Ease the aching of my shredded heart.  Help me fill the holes inside.  Grant me comfort.  Because only You can.  Ameen.

  • Suicide

    Suicide is a reflection of your self-worth, and not the worth that society places on you. We cannot act selfishly and still demand compassion and understanding from others. The two are mutually exclusive, and hypocritical if demanded. Life is therefore not about the rights of the individual, but the rights of the collective whole. Logic and nature dictates that it can be nothing less.

    Cynically Jaded (via cynicallyjaded)

  • I am not a liberal

    I am not a liberal. I think liberals are people who have a desperate need to be liked by everyone, that’s why they’ll never have the back bone to stand up for anything that would offend the opinions of others, except those that are already marginalised. The popular opinion is all that matters to liberals. 

    One can argue that they have conviction in their beliefs, but that doesn’t excuse their naivety in life. Extremism results from excessive liberalism. Moderation is not practised by liberals, because they tend to be liberal in the extreme, which makes it ironic that they would be able to point a finger at anyone that chooses to oppose their views and establish boundaries. Liberalism will only ever work if we lived in isolation and had no influence on anyone else. Then, by all means, do as you please.

    Liberals are so focused on individual rights that they lose sight of the rights of society. The more ‘free’ we become, the more social ills manifest in our liberated communities. Countries with the greatest social ‘freedoms’ also have pervasive mental ‘disorders’ and high suicide rates. But of course, according to the liberal, it’s your life, so you can do with it as you please, including throwing yourself off a building or taking an overdose, because the rights and responsibilities you have to those around you doesn’t count for anything, because your rights over your self come first.

    It’s again ironical to note that it’s this same self-centred philosophy that creates fertile ground for the mental ‘disorders’ that are ravaging our ‘first world’ societies because in every single case that I have been exposed to, such mental ‘disorders’ always have a very strong, if not predominant theme of betrayal by others. That betrayal takes the form of many things from infidelity in relationships (the most common cause) to a lack of acceptance in society (bullying, etc.). But it’s more convenient to suggest that a chemical imbalance makes us feel like we’re tainted or damaged or not good enough, rather than to acknowledge that we have a moral deficit in our progressive communities. 

    Progressive? I think not. 

    When will the liberals figure this out?

  • Suicide of a Romantic

    What is it that stops us from affirming others while they’re alive, as opposed to waiting for their demise before singing their praises? Perhaps we’re afraid of being held accountable for our kind thoughts which denies us that ever convenient exit of ‘I knew it’ or ‘I told you so’ or ‘I should’ve known better’? Or maybe we lack the belief in our own virtues and would rather not have people peering so closely that they may see in us what we despise about ourselves?

    Maybe it’s just that we’re so afraid of being hurt, that we’ll do anything to prevent others from getting too close, so that we don’t ever give them a view of how much they mean to us? That would give them far too much power to hurt or manipulate us. So instead, we create our defenses and do it so well that we end up believing that how we present ourselves to others is all we have to offer.

    Heaven forbid we should live a romantic life. It is possible you know. To live a romantic life and still remain functional and practical about all life’s challenges. But it’s easier to fit in with the jaded crowds than to be true to ourselves, because the risk of failure is too great a source for potential embarrassment. POTENTIAL embarrassment. But the reality of the joy that we’ll experience if we lived romantically now will forever escape us because of our fear of embracing what we desire, lest it be stripped away from us in an untimely fashion.

    So we set ourselves up for heartache and failure, all the while pretending to be comforted by our superficial success in worldly endeavours, ensuring that not another living soul will ever see the romantic fool in us for fear of being mocked or ridiculed for that which is closest to our hearts. So fear drives us to suppress the romance, and embellish the facade so that it becomes the reality of our existence, when in fact it’s the reality of our deception. Sad, isn’t it?

  • On suicide and insecurity and…my life

    The odd thing about suicide is that it sometimes seems like a romantic end to a painful life. But if there was a single time in your life when something unexpectedly pleasant happened, it gave you a taste of hope that creates the doubt, no matter how little, that suicide may not be the answer. The fact is, we don’t know what the next moment brings, let alone tomorrow…although the trends of our lives may provide some predictability as to what to expect.

    It’s when we dismiss the notions of hope, and worse, when we dismiss the opportunities of happiness that we succumb to our nihilistic tendencies to want to find comfort in the surety of knowing, rather than the insecurity of hope. Eventually when we’re faced with the possibility of happiness, we’re reminded about the pain associated with the retraction of that happiness from our last experience, or experiences, and in typically human fashion, we avoid that which hurts us, especially if that hurt is prompted by others rather than a hurt that we choose for ourselves.

    I’ve stared death in the face more than once…and it’s not a pleasant place to be at all. It’s a conflicting place to be because no matter my conviction, my hard-wired survivalist instinct always left me uneasy about my choice to want to end my life, because in the back of my mind I knew that I was being insincere by denouncing the infinite possibilities that actually exist towards finding happiness. 

    But the greatest realisation in all this was, for me anyway, that my misery is often a making of my own choices. I’m not saying that I chose to be miserable…I always chose to pursue happiness, but the choices I made in such a pursuit had an inherent risk of making me the target of betrayal, condescension, ridicule or just blatant cruelty, not because of who I was, but because of who I sought such happiness with. I saw my fragility and vulnerability in them, and so naively assumed that they would appreciate me appreciating that tenderness in them…instead, as is the nature of those that are insecure or overwhelmed, they struck back blindingly because the realisation of their vulnerability being exposed was too daunting for them, and so the trend of their lives that taught them not to trust resulted in me being the untrusted one.

    I didn’t choose that outcome, but I did choose to risk trying to connect with a troubled soul knowing that they may not embrace me the way I was wanting to embrace them. And in knowing that I am myself a troubled soul, my naivete, coupled with my unnatural idealistic optimism compels me to continue wanting to touch the beauty that I always see lurking behind the sad eyes of kindred spirits, having absolutely no reason to believe that they would reciprocate…ever.

  • the train stopped on the way home today

    howfreeitis:

    The train has suddenly stopped. Stopped in its tracks on the way home. I sit calmly amidst the tense frenzied air. I am always the peace in the middle of others’ chaos. I press my face against the cold glass, breath of fury condensing on the windowpane. Quiet fury. Euphoric fury. Wild contemplation. What if the train falls off its rails and I slowly watch as the ground reaches closer to the train window and I see as the cement road reaches out and shatters the glass and throws a fist into my nose so that the bones in my face break and the glass punctures my eyes out and my body crushes into a bloody mess in between the train and the road? I smile. I would fall out through this machine vessel, a bluejay soaring through the blue sky, and fall asleep as I touch the ground. Oh, pure emancipation. Sanguine liberation. Bloody fucking freedom. Bloody. Fucking. The fucking from behind as the train thrusts into death. And at the height of its fall, at the climax of its fall, at the highest note of the fat opera singer’s verse, I would reach orgasm. And that would truly be the purest end of all.

    The fact that I can relate so clearly to this thought pattern is scary…

  • Suicide is a reflection of your self-worth, and not the worth that society places on you. We cannot act selfishly and still demand compassion and understanding from others. The two are mutually exclusive, and hypocritical if demanded. Life is therefore not about the rights of the individual, but the rights of the collective whole. Logic and nature dictates that it can be nothing less.

    Cynically Jaded

  • Who needs to dream?

    So it’s time to give up on another
    dream…or maybe more accurately – dreams, since so many of them have been
    inextricably intertwined in my latest halucinations. 2010 is definitely a year
    worth remembering and forgetting all at the same time.
    The lows…recovering from the fire that wiped out the cottage, and the mess and
    financial havoc that went with it…let alone the personal strife and
    trauma…the accident with the beemer and again, the financial havoc that went
    with it. Then there was the job front that showed me my rear end…so I started
    out 2011 unemployed, and seemingly unemployable since a matric certificate from 22 years ago apparently trumps 20 years of exhaustive effort, amazing achievements and solid experience in an area of IT that most people suck at.
    Once again being estranged from my eldest daughter because of the twisted bitchiness of her deranged mother that thinks that it’s a sure fire way to get me to take her back. Sick bitch. And how could I leave out being dumped a million times over because of my undesirable level of social unacceptability rather than because I’m undesirable. So that confirms that I’m supposedly unemployable and unmarry-able if the latest opinions of me are to be deemed authoritative. Not that it differs much from previous opinions that were offered in this regard.
    So the highs would be…the untimely death of my ex-wife…unashamedly a positive event in my life, only to leave me with one of the greatest challenges in her wake as well. Pun intended. My younger daughter now living with me so that I can fend off wave after wave of ridiculous accusations from her grandparents about abuse, neglect, kidnapping and who knows what else…followed by bare-fanged ingratitude and venom from people I always suspected of insincerity but assumed the best of anyway. So much for the highs…launched an online business that has yet to make a single sale (other than my own purchase) in more than 4 months! Yet another financial disaster.
    And so it continues…and now, to give up on the dreams that I shaped around this home in which I invested heavily in time, money and a lot of hard work and sweat! But without the job, there can be no house to call my own, and so, as before, just as I grow comfortable or optimistic about establishing a really homely environment for myself and my family, it’s got to go, and I need to start again. Only this time, I have no inclination to start again…only a need to curl up and die and hope that that will be the end of it. But such good fortune does not await me…it would be too easy.
    And suicide is not an option either…so here goes nothing…again. I’m starting to feel like that tree in the forest that falls and no one hears…which makes its fall irrelevant and inconsequential.