For me, thinking of suicide isn’t a bad thing. It’s knowing where the exit is, just in case I need it. It’s reassuring to look over my shoulder and glimpse the green glow of escape. If I see there’s a clear path out, I can calm down and look for ways to get to other, more intriguing doors. Suicide has my back.
Because Reality isn’t Real I try to enjoy my delusions. Some say that depressed people are actually more realistic. I reckon that’s a bunch of tosh. Everybody is deluded in their own special way.
My deluded dream of reality changes shape depending on what stories I’m thinking of. Some stories are things I’ve been telling myself, or that others have told me, for many years, and some are brand new baby narratives. Some are cosy and warm, some are useful, some are destructive, some are fearful, and some are freaking hilarious.
I rely on intuition, emotion, empathy and logical thought processes to shape my actions. Logical thought processes are more likely to come to the same or similar conclusions when I’m assessing life, and making decisions. Telling myself stories based on these conclusions helps me make decisions better when I don’t have the time or energy to think something through.
I need to tell myself things over and over though. My intuition, based in thoughts, emotions and experiences, collects info more easily and quickly along paths that are well used. Some stories have built super highways in my mind, and some are still bumpy, rutted and dusty.
For now I’ve got a superhighways telling my intuition that dessert is one of the rich rewards for living a good life. I’ve also got a crooked dirt track telling me that sugar is a poisonous and addictive substance. Both have a place in my reality, but (the possibly deluded) superhighway gets to make most of my decisions.
Anybody else got mental roads that fork that way? (Mmmm, forks are good for chocolate cake. Just saying.)
Reality isn’t a thing. Well, it’s not something we interact with. It’s just a story we tell ourselves. Other people make things up and tell us stories. I like the one where there is this immortal being going around helping people throughout the universe by trying to restore justice and kindness. I don’t accept it as my reality, but I REALLY enjoy my deliberate suspension of disbelief.
Maybe one day a time lord named The Doctor will drag me into crazy adventures in a big blue box and surprise the heck out of my version of actual reality. That would be awesome. I think… maybe. Also how could I tell if it was really happening or if my mind were tricking me? Would I want to be able to tell?
There’s a large fandom that enjoys this same suspension of disbelief. We collectively, for the most part, tell ourselves and each other the story of how these stories are unreal.
As a species we’ve learned to cross check our beliefs by finding out what other people believe. Especially people like scientists or religious leaders that other people also believe in. Our own experiences usually have more weight than others’, though. The stories we tell ourselves of those experiences even more so.