I honestly don’t know what to say.
I keep wanting to write about how fucking lonely and depressing being quarantined is, but everything I write feels hollow and pointless.
I can already hear all the responses I might get from people after I post this. “Cheer up, we’re with you.” “Hey, it’s okay, Chloe, we love you!” “Are you okay? You can talk to me!”
I’m grateful to have those people in my life who are willing to be an ear and a helpful voice in the darkness. I’m grateful that there are people out there who do have hope.
But what if we’re all wrong? What if there is no hope? What if our planet is truly doomed, and the only hope it has left, and the only hope the rest of the living creatures on this planet have, is if the human race is completely destroyed? I mean, what good are we doing? What’s the point of any of this?
I worked a job where we tutored children. And one of my roles at that job was to call up people who hadn’t payed their monthly fee and try to get them to pay. One day, I called up a woman who sounded like she was about to have a complete emotional break.
“I’m so sorry about the money,” she said. “My husband died, and I’m dying. I may only have six months left. I’ll definitely pay you, because the last thing I want to leave my son before I die is an education. I have to know that he’s going to be okay after he loses both of his parents.”
When I brought this story to the owner, to the other managers, there was only one response: “So she didn’t pay yet?”
And my heart broke in two. I quit that job the next day.
What I’ve learned, the more jobs I’ve had and the more people I’ve worked for, is that there are pretty much only two options: Care about people, or make money.
And holy fuck, there are a LOT of people out there who are solely trying to make money. To “get theirs.” And once they do, they just… stop giving a fuck about all the other people. Maybe they donate a little money to charity once in awhile, to make themselves feel better, but I’m living in one of the poorest cities in Los Angeles county and I can say that it isn’t doing shit.
Every day, my street has a new homeless person living on it. Some of them, I know, because they used to be my neighbors. I then know the whole story: COVID put them out of work, they weren’t able to afford rent, and even though they aren’t legally able to be evicted, that doesn’t stop the eviction paperwork. The first month I wasn’t able to pay rent (before Unemployment kicked in), I received an eviction notice. I see them up on the doors around my complex, around the 5th of the month, every single month. It’s never the same doors, but there’s a man (the manager) whose ONLY JOB at this point is to go around trying to get money out of these people.
That was my job, back at the tutoring center. I’m sympathetic to the situation, but I can’t help but feel the entire system is just fucking heartless.
“WORK HARD OR ELSE!” is the motto of the world.
“What if there are no jobs?” millions of people say.
“THEN YOU DON’T DESERVE TO HAVE A HOME OR FOOD!” they say.
And once they’re on the street, the police roll in and “relocate” them, or kill them.
I don’t want to live in this world anymore. Every day, I see it get worse. Every day, I see more and more people I’ve considered my friends saying truly awful things about “The Unemployed,” not realizing they’re talking about me. Every day, I see people saying horrible things about transgendered individuals, not realizing that they’re talking about me. Every day, there’s a new “trending topic” that reveals to me the sinister true beliefs and feelings of so many of those people I’ve considered to be “good.”
Maybe our species was a mistake. And if so, what are we all still doing here?
Civilization has wrecked this planet. We’ve just about tilled all the farmland for what it’s worth, eradicated hundreds (if not thousands) of species, polluted the atmosphere, filled the oceans with our trash, and we’re not showing any signs of slowing down.
What if the only chance we have is to stop? To end ourselves, before it gets worse? I mean, how many times do we have to go through the cycle of ending slave labor & concentration camps before we realize that we can’t treat people like objects, and start treating one another with love and compassion?
I don’t know what to do. I’ve used up the last ounce of hope I had left. The world, and nearly all of the people in it, have left me feeling used, abused, spit out, chewed up, stomped on, and kicked aside. If I don’t have anything “meaningful” to “contribute” to “society,” then I suppose I might as well not fucking exist, eh?
I don’t want to alarm anyone by using this word, because it’s a very heavy word that a lot of people have associations with, and there are a lot of preconceived notions about the “type of person” who thinks about things like this, but I want to talk about suicide.
I’m not at a place where I feel suicide is my “only option.” I’m not at a place where I feel like “it’s the only way to end the pain.” But I am at a place where I’m thinking, “it sounds a whole lot better than what my life currently is, and probably a whole lot better than anything my life could become.”
I think people react too selfishly to someone else’s suicide. Why shouldn’t we be allowed to say when we want to leave this world? We didn’t choose to be here in the first place, and it’s honestly a terrible, painful place to be. The more I see and the more I learn, the more I empathize and feel everyone else’s pain. I can’t stop myself from imagining the life of a Huigar Muslim in the Chinese concentration camps. I can’t stop myself from imagining the absolute pain and turmoil the Mexican children in America’s border facilities must be feeling; the ones who have been taken from their parents and will likely never see them again. I can’t stop myself from feeling the pain of the families of the men and women who are murdered by our police force with no repercussions. I feel the fear and terror of the Lebanese citizens who may not get food and water before they die at home.
All day, every day, I can’t stop feeling the pain.
And I’ve been reading self help books. I’ve been talking to a therapist. I’ve been doing gratitude journals every morning, trying to find the little things to be happy about, to be grateful for, to be excited for. But nothing helps. No matter how many of these mental health tricks I do, I still just watch every day as my fellow humans destroy each other.
And I don’t want to feel it anymore. I don’t want to watch and not be able to do anything. I don’t want to have to get a job to help make money for the people who are causing all of these problems, just to have them look down on me as a lesser person because I wasn’t lucky enough to be born into their family.
So if you ask me, “Chloe, do you want to kill yourself?”, the answer is, “No.”
No I don’t want to. But do I feel it might be the only recourse I have left? Do I feel like, one day very soon, it might be the only thing I can do to try to help the billions of other lives on this planet?
I’m still here. I’m still in this. But I don’t believe I’m going to live to be 100. I don’t believe I’m going to be sitting on a rocking chair on a porch in my old age. I firmly believe there will be a day where I choose to end things myself, not because I’m too sad, but because there’s just nothing for me here.
Maybe I’ll feel differently if this Pandemic ever ends. Maybe I’ll change my mind if we manage to turn things around and start helping people instead of treating everyone like equipment. But I’m really, really losing hope that that’s ever going to happen.