Planning to kill myself

This post is a copy from the youngcity forum and is not authored by me. However, it is well written and expresses the frustration many child-lovers have. I couldn't say it any better.
I've been depressed for most of my life now. There have been some periods of relief, but they are short and few. Suicide is a thought that has haunted me for the last decade. Despite that, I always (somehow) thought that things weren't really that bad, but looking back, I realize how much of a struggle life has been for me. I didn't have the greatest home life, but I wasn't really abused or neglected. I could have used the support, but I wouldn't say I was harmed at all by it. But I was romantically and sexually interested in boys (peers at the time), and although I never talked about that with anyone, I was still bullied for being "gay." I think kids were noticing how distant and shy I was and assumed sexuality was the cause. As presumptuous as that was, they weren't wrong. I only say that now, realizing that I greatly underestimated the complexity and stress of being "in the closet." It has consumed me ever since then. There's no way I can blame being timid on my natural personality.

I pretend like I'm happy and satisfied with life, because I have no socially legitimate reason not to be. My entire personality with friends, family, and the public is fake. "Happy"? "Satisfied"? I'm on the verge of killing myself because I'm the exact opposite. I obsess over the interactions I have with people, and I'm seriously affected when I don't feel that I convinced them that I am normal and not creepy or (in the case of parents/caregivers) not a pedophile. In anticipation of interactions that I feel insecure about, I might spend an hour or more mentally rehearsing very specific phrasing so that I come off the way I want to without actually lying (because I hate lying and suck at it), for each interaction, even if it's only going to last 5 minutes. I'll consider many possible personal questions I might be asked and how to answer them in ways that completely avoid any suspicion of being a pedophile. Most of the time, I rely on being vague and keeping my stories as short as possible. I become overwhelmed with anxiety if I'm telling a story that's longer than 30 seconds. When kids who are normally eager to spend time with me don't show up like normal, all I can do is obsess over what the reason might be and how to respond if I get confronted by their parents. Sometimes they eventually show up and have just been busy or less interested in seeing me. Sometimes it's exactly what I feared, and I start mentally rehearsing what to say to their parents and what kind of attitude to have, practicing reacting like I think a normal person would. Most of the time, things just blow over and go back to normal. A couple times I've actually dealt with confrontation with (moderate) success.

But the older I get, the harder it becomes. I'm into my 20s now and should be dating or married and should have plenty of sexual experience with whichever sex I'm attracted to. I'm at a dead end here. I have to offer up stories about my girlfriend, or join in sexual discussions, or talk about being romantically interested in adults. My neighbors need to see me bringing girls/guys home and being busy with an adult life, doing things with peers. Even if I was a closeted gay, I would be preoccupied with adults. I'm not. I can't fake any of that. I'm a creepy loner, slowly fitting into the neighborhood "chomo" stereotype. It makes sense to me now. This was always my fate. I was delusional to think that I would live some kind of normal life and be able to pretend like I was normal after people stopped seeing me as a kid.

And now I've brought my situation to a head. I've cut myself off from my friends and dug myself into a hole. I don't know how I was able to go out with them to bars and clubs and parties and mingle with people. I can't do it anymore. I don't want to do it anymore.

I can't go back. I have to make a change.

I always had hope that I would be able to make things work. I was charismatic and smart and attractive. All I had to do was keep up my facade, keep convincing people I was normal, and once I was allowed time alone with the boys I loved, we could share a sort of relationship that would keep both of us happy while it lasted. I thought as long as I could guarantee privacy, things would be okay. Well, they're not. The kind of relationship I need is not the kind that boys want, at least not at the age I prefer. Yeah, it's easy for adults to be "special best friends" with 8 year olds, but once kids get to be 10 or 11, they figure out that something isn't right. They realize that the person I am around them (the real me) is not the person everyone else thinks I am. The other kids think I'm "cool" and are jealous, but if they were to find out who the real me was, that jealousy would turn into ridicule. That's when I lose them. Every time. At the same time they realize others would judge them, they start caring more than ever about being judged. While it's true that people don't know the real me, the reason everyone likes me is my character, and that's not fake. I said that jealousy would turn to ridicule when people discovered the real me, but that's because they're too ignorant to realize that the real me is the one they liked all along. Instead of feeling like they discovered a dark secret of mine, they should be making sense of why I am so likeable and friendly. But there is no way to convince a kid of that. He's got an entire social life to foster and manage, and there is no place for a pedophile best friend in that.

This last time, there was nothing more that I could have done to make the situation better. It was ideal in almost every way. It didn't work out. I no longer believe it ever will.

The problem isn't with me or the boys. The problem is this culture. The problem is this persecution. And I have no power to change that. I have no idea how to escape it. I have searched and brainstormed for several years and have completely run out of ideas. I have reached my limit. I understand the reality I face now. I have lost all hope. I decided that once I lost this last boy, I would kill myself. He's all but gone now. It's time.

It's weird. I've considered myself suicidal for years, but things have been different lately. I've been a total zombie for weeks. I lay in bed at night and consider whether tonight is the night. I haven't finished preparing yet, but I think about giving up on the preparations every night and just going through with it. I wake up in the morning, and I wish I was dead. I think "someone, please kill me!" I repeat it several times. I don't know why, but I get up and go to work anyway, hating every minute of it. I do nothing all morning but think about killing myself, imagining how people will react and what life will be like when I'm gone. At times I'm overcome with frustration and feel destructive. I'll step on the gas pedal and speed by cars briefly. Yeah, that's about as destructive as I get... A couple nights ago, I was writing in my diary and started actually realizing what I do all day, how much time I spend obsessing over boys, people, and suicide, and how completely abnormal that is compared to what other people's daily lives are like. I felt what I can only describe as panic starting to overwhelm me. It was unbearable. My thoughts became wildly paranoid. I started fearing that people were gathering with pitchforks outside my house to run me out of the neighborhood. I started questioning whether I had been poisoned. I started questioning whether my friends and family actually wanted me dead. I stopped what I was doing and did my best to calm myself down until it passed, because I truly started to lose control and thought about going for the gun to make it stop. It scared me. I've never had that happen before. What was that? Admittedly, I wasn't sober, but just barely. It felt like I was tripping balls, when I had taken no such drug.

Things have calmed down since then. I don't want to kill myself. But I have no reason to live. So as of now, I'm just going to continue preparing for death, checking things off my list, and plan on going through with it when I'm done.

 Sorry for writing so much. I would say I did it for a reason, but I don't know why I do anything anymore. Thanks for reading. It really does mean a lot to me. This is my life, and I haven't been able to tell anyone, not even (or especially) my closest friends who know about my sexual orientation (and support me as best as they can be expected to) and know I'm going through severe depression. I just can't be a burden like that anymore. I feel like a plague, a looming negativity in people's lives, and telling them about this would only make that worse.

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