Suicidal = stays in bed all day listening to depressing music and/or boozing himself into oblivion whilst making practice cuts in his wrists right?

No, I rarely skip a day of work. As you can see I blog every day, I teach Dutch, English and French, am organising a festival in september and whenever someone wants to talk about their problems I listen. I also learn Slovak, some Spanish, go running, have hired a personal fitness trainer, am promoting a book, writing a second one, doing quite intense research on the American Civil war, and along side of this I also find the time to mess up my life chasing after blatantly almost cartoonesquely narcisistic women (my favorite! That’s no irony, I can get very attracted to that kind of woman, if they are very smart, extravert and flashy).

In the back of my head there’s a programme running.

It’s not so much a programme, it’s an army made up of crack soldiers. I constantly hear them marching, firing, bombarding. The dark waters rise and close in on me. They cowhide me with vile thoughts, ram daggers into my back, riddle me with arrows, and they don’t mind using flame throwers or emotional napalm, they have a knack for carpet bombing.

This army has an inexhaustible supply of vicious barrages giving me all sorts of reasons why I am inferior, worthless, insignificant, a failure, etc, argumented by Cicero himself. Supported by Cato and all the best orators in history. Et ceterum censeo Williamem (?) delendam esse.

To escape from this, I have several lousy options.

I scan the city for the tallest building to jump off from.

I consider starving myself to death. (Because it might look like some disease and not like suicide)

I consider the plastic bag method.

Hanging is not an option, at least not at home, because after extensive research I cannot but conclude that there is no spot to hang yourself in this appartment. I would have to do it at work, but then you do have to consider who finds you and the ways this could affect people.

I dismiss slashing my wrists, because according to the statistics only six percent of those that try this are succesful.

I’ve discovered that I can chase off this predatory army if I chase the type of woman described above. Perhaps because to worship something outside myself leaves the invading army without a target. This tactic works only temporarily, and just like with any drug, it often comes with a hangover, a hangover that can last up to six months in some cases if not longer.

Why I live with something that so desperately wants to kill me is still a mystery to me. Perhaps it’s genetic, we have suicides in the family. Other than that I am blessed with a cosier life than 90 percent of the people on this planet, but the thing that wants to kill me most desperately wants to kill me when I give any sign of being ok with having it cosy. It wants to destroy me for being weak. It wants to destroy me for allowing it to destroy me. It wants to destroy itself by destroying its host.

You cannot see it from the outside, unless you are my wife or unusally sensitive.

But the day passes, I stare at tall buildings, druel over the balcony a little bit, make a mental note to get handcuffs to make the plastic bag method more feasible, consider stuffing my pockets with the drumbells I use to lift weights and jumping into the Danube river, and at the same time I do what I need to do, not as effective as I could, since I am functioning only at 30 percent or less of the full capacity. Somehow I end up in bed, somehow I wake up again and somehow I drag myself through the same old shit on a different day.

Quite often I have a lot of fun during a day.

Because I know what this feels like, I never want to inflict similar feelings on anyone else. So I find it like a calling to be as kind as possible to people and to make them smile while also helping them along a little bit.

It’s the kind people that make it worth it to find ways to #thrive.

And it’s the people who would get an ego boost from seeing me give up that are the biggest antidote to any self-terminating measures.

There are some advantages to it, it’s turned me into an excellent therapist, because I need to use every trick in the book to function, and it makes me write like a maniac, because when I feel useful the negative onslaught has nobody to attack, I get deeply absorbed in my activities.

Other antidotes:

– running and physical excercise

– learning new things

– helping others in worse situations than my own

– sunshine

– staring a large bodies of water

– making jokes, dark humor

– chasing a certain type of women (but this can be very destructive as well)

– being in a foreign country where everything is so different that I need to focus harder on ordinary day to day things and can’t be drawn into the murky abyss

– for some reason, treating what goes in my mind as a military situation, when nothing too bad happens, it almost feels like I’m playing a game, the forces of light against the forces of darkness. Kinda fun sometimes, I get to use a lot of German terminology to get a clear mental picture.

It tends not to hamper me in any way, it’s mostly a problem in situations where I feel useless. Meetings where I have absolutely nothing to add are a particularly trying form of torture for example. That’s why I write frantically during most meetings, unless the meeting really concerns me and I can feel useful.

I wrote this in the hope that some other people with similar thoughts may fins some inspiration to deal with it.