Living Suicide

You can die alive, I have been proving it over the last few months.

At first I thought my only way out was to hang myself from something or make a 2-inch slit through one of the great arteries on the side of my neck. But I devised a better plan, one in which I could commit a similar act and look like less of a coward.

First I withdrew, it was slow and steady, I stopped attending social functions, I stopped calling friends, going to the gym, anything that involved my face in a public arena. Anything that included being vulnerable. .

The depression, which hit hard and sudden, I hid very well. Because somehow I have been able to maintain a false persona of a stable, possibly even self-confident person, but if you were paying attention you would see the changes.

The short temper, the self-loathing, self-hate that I pass onto others in the form of subtle comments. This further drives away the ones I love. It hurts, but even in this lies hope, hope of my further decomposition into non-existence.

Then I withdrew from my job, my patients, eventually I quit.

We left our home, our car, sold our stuff… This was all disguised in the “we are a brave family traveling the world”, and because I am weak our family has suffered to some degree. I figured that if I kept running I would feel better, it didn’t work.

The only persona that grew was my online persona that I could fake, for a while at least.  But now I am realizing that this can no longer sustain itself. Even though in the digital world I can exist in pixels, shaped to my liking, the reality of who I am, my selfishness and shame empty out into everything that I do (or don’t do) as a result.

The only things I have left are my 2 small children and my wife and 1 very good friend who is busy with his own life. I can tell even my wife has had enough she doesn’t touch me our even hug me anymore, her looks are cold and standoffish, I created this, because I think it is what I have given her. And it has nothing to do with her, it is simply a byproduct of my deep-seated shame.

No job, no friends, a family life that is falling apart, I am all alone, and I created every single bit of it.

The final step is to jump feet first into a wooden box 6 feet underground. This would be my final disappearing act.

But, I don’t want to die, so where can I go? What else can I do, but to commit a living suicide, one that leaves me with all the fears I conjure when I look in the mirror:

All alone, unlovable, disconnected and afraid…. So no, maybe this isn’t death, it is the definition of what it is to live with BDD. Death would probably be a whole lot easier.

No, this is not a living suicide, this is the definition of a living hell.