Suicide and Life

There is an undulating whooshing beyond my hotel window, almost like ocean waves churning on the beach, with the occasional purring and brap of motors beelining down the dark highway.

I lay awake, and take in the sounds. They wash over me, through me. The digital screen illuminates my torso. I can see the glowing outline of my nose as I type these words.

My uncle Joe shot himself in the head last year, when I was 32.

My close childhood friend Todd hung himself in his basement 16 years before that, when we were 17.

My best friend Joe hung himself in his bedroom four years before that, when we were 13.

I was institutionalized at Arthur Brisbane Child Treatment Center in 2004.

Dropped out of high school in 2005.

Enrolled in college in 2007. Transferred to Vanderbilt University in 2009.

I’m morbidly depressed. My thoughts are generally incoherent. It occurred to me that I have no dreams, no aspirations, no goals…. in short: no hope.

Where there is no hope, there is no life. This is the source of all angst.

Where do we find hope? How can we create hope?

First, we need to conceive of something worth hoping in, then we need to believe that with enough effort, patience, persistence, faith: we can achieve.

Life is pale. There are no colors running through my eyes. All is gray, shades and shadows.

I am happy, said the bird. His song dances, like a butterfly dances over a field of flowers.

There is darkness here. Corners and crevasses, where darkness hides, burrows.

My life is routine.

My girlfriend went out last night. After a lengthy back and forth, ultimately I declined to go with her, citing finances, citing lack of energy, citing it’s a Sunday night and I work the following morning, while she has off. I didn’t tell her that she’s mostly a disagreeable person, and after her general disposition the last 48 hours, I have no desire to go with her, except to stave off additional conflict. But I eventually just didn’t give a fuck, so I declined, and she went out. And came home drunk as fuck at 3am. She climbed into bed and I woke to her naked body slithering against mine, her hands stroking the length of my cock as she gyrated against me. I didn’t want to have sex, but I realized she wasn’t taking no for an answer, so I eventually mounted her from behind and just fucked her as hard as possible and as long as possible, until I was out of breath and delirious. Between her moans she gently cried out, “I just want you to love me”. This kind of thing breaks my heart, but it also melts my brain, since I can’t figure out how she wants to be loved while retaining my own wellness and sanity, the crux of our relationship problems, if you were to define them.

In the swirling memory of the night I recall how detached I felt groping her tiny lean body, cupping her breasts, stroking her back and butt, and how utterly empty I felt pounding her into submission. Giving her exactly what she wanted. The dark silent emptiness of our bedroom, interrupted only by the sound of beating flesh and heavy breathing, reflected the dark silent emptiness of my soul.

I am empty.

Tomorrow I give a controls training to about 75 plant engineers at the Gigafactory. Should be interesting.

I also received a promotion a week ago, as Group Manager. Haven’t discussed pay raise, but I hope to god I get one. No idea how I’ll negotiate even though I already agreed to the position. I expect a significant salary raise. I’ll be managing roughly $8 million in personal account business, and a team of two direct reports totaling roughly the same. I currently manage $3 million in sales. The official transition of responsibilities will occur on the 10th of February.

People ask me why I’m not excited about the promotion. I tell them I am excited. More responsibility is always good. More challenge is always good. Right?

I just know, wherever you go, there you are. Life never changes. I’m growing all the time, but I’m still always me. A title or additional responsibilities won’t change my default state of being. So, a promotion is good. But it’s whatever.

We all die in the end. Everything is temporary.

The most comical thing that I carry within myself, is my conviction that I was destined for greatness. This bizarre programming I’ve internalized is increasingly at odds with the reality I find myself in every day. I am mostly ashamed of my performance and abilities, with my current state of being. I feel stuck, stagnant. Embarrassed.

Vision is lacking.

I need vision.

If I don’t have a vision, if I can’t conjure a dream worth believing in, I have nothing left to live for.

I should figure this out sooner than later.

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