I am a man
I am self-aware
Everywhere I go
You’re always right there with me
I’ve flirted with you all my life
Even kissed you once or twice
And to this day I swear it was nice
But clearly I was not ready
Oh death, I’m not ready
I am at a loss for giving anyone else answers that have eluded me for so long. My life has not been horrible. I felt I needed more to make it meaningful and endurable. I have been unhappy for some time; I could not seem to get the disparate parts of my personality to align in my favor; I have been planning this for some time; and, I have considered it likely, given my natural disposition. While there is nothing in particular that has brought me to this place, my disillusionment with life can be found somewhere between what I perceived to be employment that lacked prestige or value; the slow loss of friends and community, some of which self-imposed; and, repeated unrequited love.
From my perspective, I spared those around me the misery of being around me. Part of me chose to isolate myself because I was becoming an insufferable bore, another part chose because I was finding my ability to tolerate others diminishing, and finally I wanted to see how many people would try to knock down the walls I had erected around myself. I spent the last several months doing what I wanted; it was not unpleasant. I didn’t want to get married for fear of burdening another person with my depression, and I most certainly did not want to pass along my genetic material; and, if I’m not going to have a family or have a gainful, meaningful employment (both scenarios seemed unlikely), why live at all? Life was painful and boring. There was simply nothing else I wanted, and those things I would have enjoyed (Vienna, sex) are no great losses. I have relatively recently seen or spoken to most of my inner circle, a number of which on my vacation out east. I have seen enough.
I have some final people to address. I would have said this in life, but people would have tried to stop me. Try keeping a secret like this for several months: it’s not as easy as you imagine. First, I have a request. The next year, and beyond, will be horrible for my mother and maternal grandparents. If my friendship has purchased anything, account it to them and call her my mother to make sure she’s as well as can be expected.
To all the girls I loved who didn’t love me back: Desperately I wanted to make one of you feel like a queen. Until I became a woman hater not too long ago, it was my deepest desire to show you how beautiful you were. For all my flaws and missed opportunities, I would have done anything to make you happy. Rightly or wrongly, I treated you as my salvation. And now I have a gun in my mouth.
My greatest fear is that people rejected me not because they didn’t see the real me, but because they did, because they couldn’t bring themselves to hire or date or hang out with someone as ugly as me. What if my boss really did see my potential? What if girls did see what I had to offer and found me wanting. If so, then I guess this is a reasonable decision. If not, then that’s just unfortunate, like much of life. I have made poor choices in life and I own them completely. I have simply chosen not to live with them.
I hope this gives no one fodder for taking away guns rights or rights in general. I believe it’s a person’s right to commit suicide. I also don’t believe that all life is sacred – some people need to just get out of the way. I don’t believe in making that decision for someone else, but over time nature skims off the dross. I believe most of us just fear death more than living life as a loser. I would like to clarify that paragraph for any who misunderstand where I’m coming from, but obviously that is out of the question.
I suppose that’s enough. If you wish to memorialize me, I hope it’s not too pretentious of me to say I always felt an affinity for Don McLean’s “Vincent.”
Let my epitaph read: “the world has no room for another third-rate philosopher” (I’m serious).