agony

Some things just don't make sense.

No matter how much you try, sometimes you don't have enough consciousness to understand a concept.

That elusive understanding, to me, is suicide. Not just the simple meaning, the obvious denotation of someone attempting against their own life. Those are just words, written by another person who is alive.

It's more than that. And what I can't quite comprehend is why. Not why people do it, but why people feel it.

Why do I feel it?

Suicide should not be reduced to an act. Because it's more than that. Someone doesn't just commit suicide. They live with that condition for an uncertain amount of time.

That's what their life becomes. An endless feeling of wanting to escape.

"Escape from what?" is the frequently asked question.

Although we don't have an answer, and we will never definitively have an answer, I do have my own thoughts.

Because I have my own feelings, and despite my desires, I experience what I believe to be the most agonizing despair a human being could ever imagine.

People usually find it funny when someone plays chess alone. But as a player, I know how much a match against yourself can help you improve your own tactics. That's because you have to deceive your own mind. You have to think as yourself, against yourself. You have to confront your weakest points, discover your most vulnerable thoughts, and then you win.

And by winning, you lose.

The amount of learning you can gain from playing against yourself is unimaginable because no matter what happens, you can never truly deceive your own mind.

Suicide, as the process that a person goes through from falling into that condition, living and ultimately ending the experience by taking their own life, is like playing chess alone.

My eyes in the mirror tell me something I refuse to admit, but that I will admit now: I am nothing but a broken girl.

And all I want is to leave this behind.

If you search for suicide on the internet, you'll read a lot of hate, pain, and cold, dictionary-like definitions. None of those are lies. None of those are the truth either.

The fact is, I don't want to die. And I do wish I could live. When you can't have those two survival desires working together, to be alive and not wanting to die, your mind goes insane.

Now, insanity is where I can finally try to explain what suicide means to this semi-conscious, broken, and tormented girl.

I don't want to die, but I do allow myself to surrender to death if it means escaping from myself and my torturous mind.

I was losing the battle, and while in a chess game it should be equally a winning condition, it doesn't feel like that... at all. When you play against your own mind with your life at stake, things don't go smoothly. You don't learn more about yourself, and you don't improve your skills.

You just lose. And lose. And lose. Over and over again. Every morning is the same; I struggle to find the will to get up, to open my eyes. To see the world, to live, and accept the fact that there's nothing to be done but face my own suffering.

There's no beauty in it. There's no silver lining. There's no inspiration behind it.

There's sadness, depression, loss, and grief. There's anger. And nature acting against itself.

There's a human losing their humanity.

And no words are capable of explaining such agony.