I’m not doing anything useful for society right now. In other words, I am useless. And aware that I am useless, isolated and depressed. But there is something good about this that no one can see.
While I am stuck inside this cocoon, I am getting visions of grandeur. I’m getting ideas of magnificence that have nothing to do with my old life and my dying self. I don’t know where the hell those impressions are coming from. They seem to be of a new me who inhabits a new world, somewhere outside of time.
I know, in a way, that I am just like the guy next door who suffers from bipolar disorder. I’m also like the one I saw on TV who suffers from schizophrenia. I could swear I hear voices sometimes. Voices who say things like: “I am the future you. Identify with me.”
Exhilarating, isn’t it! But no one understands. From the perspective of earthlings, I am sick. According to them, I should be “out there” enjoying life. But I have lost all desire to do the things I used to do, the things that used to make me happy. I no longer get any pleasure out of those activities.
When someone asks me what is the one thing that would make me happy, the first thought that pops into my mind is: “I wish I was dead.” But I have learned not to reply this. So I just smile and then my interlocutor smiles back and says: “Just do whatever it is that makes you happy…”
So I have thought of killing myself in order to accelerate the process. But the next part of the sentence is: “… as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else.”
Shit. I have a huge family. I have a wife. I have kids. I know several men who have killed themselves. Their families still suffer from it today. So I had to cross this one off of my To Do list. Still, I realize that I have nonetheless hung myself. Figuratively speaking. Like that caterpillar in the picture above.
Society does its best to discourage us from committing suicide, but the mind finds a way. As if it had been programmed to do so. The result is what you see in the second phase: a caterpillar who has hung itself upside down and sealed itself off from the rest of the world. It WANTS to die.
Doctors, whether physicians or psychiatrists, should know that any human, at one point or another in their life, if mentally sane, will desire to end his life, and that this is not a disease.
So, all I can say is this: “Thanks for your help, doc. But you can keep your prescriptions and your pills. No matter what it says in your books, I know that there is nothing wrong with me. I am not mentally ill. I am meta-morphing.”