Empty vessel

I think about suicide a lot. Usually several times a day. Sometimes I think about it in a detached way, and sometimes it's accompanied by intense sadness or angst. But increasingly, it's not even about escaping from unbearable sorrow - I can be in an even mood, feel mentally strong, and still ponder the idea and not rule it out.

I have learned a lifetime of negativity which I am trying to slowly replace with thoughts and feelings that are more constructive. I've romanticized death, tragedy, self-destruction, darkness. I've assumed there was no other way. On a very basic level I don't think I want to be one of the survivors. I think this is my low self-worth speaking, believing my only way to avoid ignominity is to make a splash of the tragic kind. In that way, I'll be remembered, even idolized. It's like I've given up on making anything out of myself the hard way, by living. On top of all this, there is the lack of philosophic bedrock beneath my feet, the absence of a persuasively rational reason for fighting that battle.

The three-headed demon dog of grief, insecurity, and nihilism has never loomed larger as a nemesis. To defeat him I will need to slay all his heads, not just one.