He didn’t quite understand how life worked. He would kill himself time and time again only to come right back. Sometimes right away, sometimes a week later, sometimes after a month or even a year. It didn’t matter how much time had passed, it wasn’t really about time. He’d always come back. This world drove him crazy but the idea of being forgotten drove him even more so. He refused to be forgotten. So he’d come back to life and for awhile, he’d forget why he ever killed himself in the first place.
The problem wasn’t in his dying. He couldn’t really help himself. No matter how hard he tried, no matter the situation, there would always come a time where his anxiety would take over. Life would get to be too much for him and he would need to disappear. Not that he didn’t try staying alive. He tried. He would make friends, cultivate interests. He would practice mindfulness and meditation. Form long-lasting connections. Eat good food and travel. He did everything he was supposed to but he always ended up losing his shit anyway.
Life was just way too hard for him. Harder than it was for others. He was misunderstood, but of his own making. He never really learned what it meant to ‘be yourself’ and so, he never learned how to let people in. He was a shell of a person most of the time, a shell he didn’t recognize, one he didn’t really fit into until he learned how to force it. It’s hard living like that. When every breath feels like needles through your veins, you eventually learn to stop breathing. He could not take the pressures of human existence so his best option was always death. Every time, he would convince himself he needed to die. And everyone else agreed with him.
So the problem wasn’t in his dying. No one really minded all that much. The real problem was, he could never just stay dead. It got a little bit tedious to keep up with. A little annoying. People don’t want to keep burying the same body over and over again. We want what’s buried to stay buried. We don’t appreciate things creeping out from the ground when we’re trying to forget them, no matter how hard it was to scratch and crawl your way back up. We want to bury you, mourn you, then move the hell on from you. And we definitely do not want any reason to have to turn back around and dig up the past.
But it can’t be helped. Some people really just can’t stay dead. So if you can’t stay dead, don’t crawl back into the ground, back to where you came from. Don’t bury your problems. Don’t bide your time in the dark. If you really can’t stay dead, you better come back better than before. Come back glorious. Come back bright. If you really can’t stay dead, you better rise from those fucking ashes.