Why am I alive. I have no idea. Other than the simple fact that I exist.
Sure, there is the reason why I was born – My mother, according to her, decided that she and my father were selfish for not having children, so she got pregnant and had a child. My father had been very clear in his desire never to have children. He had been the eldest in a large family, and due to his father often being absent, he had become, from an early age, the provider of money, food, and shelter to his siblings and his mother. A surrogate father and husband. Once his siblings were adults, he still provided for them, and their children, and he made sure his mother had everything she ever needed and more. He was born into poverty, and became wealthy through hard graft. Being wealthy has its perks, but it also has a not so perky side. He was seen as the goose that laid golden eggs, and egg collectors flocked to try and get their hands on some of that shiny gold. His family were very adamant that those eggs belonged to them. So, the real reason my mother had a child was because she wanted to make sure that my father had an heir who would inherit his golden eggs. Her plan backfired on her, as most of her plans did. My father never forgave her for stealing his seed, creating a child with it, and betraying his wish not to produce offspring. His family loathed me for existing, just in case I interfered with their inheritance plans, and made sure at every opportunity that they poisoned his mind against me. They didn’t need to do that since his mind never liked me in the first place, but he knew that pretending to love his child in front of them would annoy the hell out of them. Those were the sort of games played in my childhood.
I knew from the very beginning that my father did not want me to exist. It took me a while to realise how much my mother wished that she could have had a retroactive abortion. That sounds harsh, to use that particular term to describe it, but there is a story there. Someone once said that to me – I bet your mother wishes she could have a retroactive abortion. So. Since I knew this person was right. I adopted their terminology for the way my mother felt about my existence. She was not subtle in letting me know how much my birth had ruined her life. In fact she repeated it over and over again in many different ways, but her favourite way was to tell me how much my father hated the fact that I was alive. Her second favourite way was to tell me how much my father’s family hated the fact that I was alive. Her third favourite way was to tell me how much she had to sacrifice for me, because if it wasn’t for me… blah blah blah.
So is it any wonder that I have the ghost of Why Am I Alive haunting me. I was brought into existence to serve a purpose I failed to serve because I existed. The world didn’t want me here, but I was here anyway. This overwhelming feeling helped to shape me into a painfully shy child. I was wounded to the core. Hurt by the complexity of such a conundrum. My hurt turned into deep seated anger. I needed something to keep me warm. To keep the blood flowing through my veins.
Every day of my life I dream of complete and utter annihilation of self. And every day of my life I fight the urge. I have many coping mechanisms. When one fails, I invent another one to replace it. Staying alive is, in a way, my Fuck You to the world. But it is also something else. Deep within me lies a very primal desire to cling to life and enjoy every second of it. I know it’s a contradiction, but I am a patchwork of those. I love life with the same amount of passion that I hate it. It is intense. I swing from one extreme to another all the time, occasionally stopping in the middle of the two, to pause, catch my breath, and contemplate.
I have never attempted suicide… properly. I did try to drown myself when I was very small. It was not an accident as everyone thought it was. I know it wasn’t. And I almost allowed myself to die when I had appendicitis. I do however think about suicide a lot. It’s my safety valve when I feel overwhelmed by the pain of living. I know I will never act on it. I made a pledge to myself never to do so. Yet… I smoke. It is one of my coping mechanisms. It mitigates the pain of living, by killing me slowly. Then again, life is a slow death in a way. Maybe I’m just trying to hurry it up a little. Maybe I just want a little bit of control over my demise, since I had no control over my birth.
Astrologically this ghost is impossible to narrow down to any particular planet, sign, aspect, or placement. It is in all of my chart. I can see the energy of it moving along the aspect lines from one planet to another, one triggering another, triggering another, and so on and so forth. But I do know which planet keeps me alive. Pluto in the first house. Primal scream magnified until it deafens the urge to die.
On a final note. If you’re contemplating suicide, please resist the urge to follow through. Fantasise about it to your heart’s content, indulge the dream, but don’t make that dream a reality. We’re all in this thing called life together. Your life matters, even if you think the only person it matters to is you. You are the only one your life really has to matter to, because you are the only one who can keep yourself alive. Claim your power back from all those who have stolen it from you, all those to whom you have given it away. Embrace the primal urge within you to live. The pain of your death will always be greater than the pain of your life. How do I know that. Because we are all connected, and when one person ends their life to end their suffering, their suffering doesn’t end, it gets passed on to all those who are still alive. Do you really want to pass on the suffering which is so painful that it makes you want to kill yourself onto others. Do they not already have enough pain and suffering of their own. Before you get pissed off at me for calling you selfish for wanting to kill yourself, here’s a story:
A friend of mine came to me for advice. I hate giving advice, because I’m a mess, so… A friend of theirs had called them and told them that they were going to kill themselves, and they didn’t know what to do. I had a flashback to my father calling me week after week telling me he was going to kill himself, and he never did, and I knew that he wouldn’t, that this was just a sick game he was playing. I also knew that if I decided to kill myself, I would not tell anyone about it, I would just do it. So I told my friend all of that, and added that those who tell their friends they are going to kill themselves are less likely to do it. VERY BAD ADVICE. My friend’s friend killed themselves several days later. They were very loved by many people, everyone whose lives they touched fell in love with their generous spirit. They had called several of their friends to announce their suicide. No one thought that they would act on it. It devastated their closest friends, who were put on suicide watch by their friends. The ripples of this person’s death hit everyone who had ever met them like a tsunami. Including me, and I had only known them very briefly. I had to watch over my friend as they felt deeply responsible for not stopping the suicide, and they felt crushed by the loss, by a bond which had been harshly severed. And I now carry the pain of having given very very very bad advice, which I have added to all the other ghosts that haunt me.
You’re not selfish for wanting to kill yourself. I’m selfish for wanting you not to kill yourself. I have enough pain as it is to deal with, I don’t want more.
AND… It is also one of my coping mechanisms. The thought that I could hurt others by hurting myself stops me hard and fast in my suicidal tracks. Yet still, I smoke, and I know how much that hurts me, and all those who love me and wish that I would quit. I will try again to quit. I have done so for long spells before. Just have to keep trying, keep going, ever onwards… one day all of this might actually make sense. Perhaps I’ll even know why I am alive, maybe just before I die from a natural death, it’ll flash before my eyes and I’ll whisper ‘Aha!’. My last words.
So, Do you ever wonder why you are alive? Do you have an answer?