Emily Morrison

It can be as seemingly insignificant as replying ‘you too’ when the server tells me to enjoy my meal or as dream-crushing as rejection from a potential job or love that sends me retreating in on myself. Small embarrassments or big traumatic events it doesn’t matter. Each has the potential to make me recede inside and wish that I simply did not exist.

The desire to simply not exist is not the same as having suicidal tendencies, nor does it mean that person is prone to self-harm. Most who have the desire to no longer exist recognise that these things are likely to cause pain or suffering to those around them, when the reason they often feel this desire to not exist stems from a sense of inadequacy, of being a burden or inconvenience to others in the first place. The act of dying would only add to the guilt of being an unnecessary burden on society and relationships. Ceasing to exist, however, or never having existed at all, removes that guilt and shame.

I do not wish to die. But I also feel shame for existing and not being better.

Turning on the news and watching it the whole way through without developing any kind of disgust, fear, or outrage is a feat that I commend anyone capable of doing. Yet at the same time, I pity you with all sincerity. I find that the more horrors I see people commit unto each other, the selfishness and vapidness of the rich and influential, and the irreparable damage humanity wreaks upon the earth, the more I wish I wasn’t part of it. I don’t want to belong to a species that does these awful things. But am I angry at them? Or am I ashamed that I cannot do anything about it?

The feelings of helplessness, insignificance and limitation are all ones I cycle through with regularity. I am helpless to my emotions. I am insignificant to the cosmos. I am limited by my body and economic standing. I am not enough, and therefore I do not deserve to exist.

But if I do not deserve to exist, than who does?

Those who share the desire to simply not exist feel things very deeply. They must, for how could someone truly impassive care enough to indefinitely stop all forms of experience from ever happening. That is not to say that all who feel things deeply have the desire to disappear and never have been born to begin with. Perhaps this society that teaches us being overly emotional is weak, that investments and expensive brand names determine value, and that humanity has priority over all things simply isn’t equipped for those who feel everything as a deeply personal experience.

We feel things too deeply that sometimes the intensity of our emotions becomes too great for our limited cognitive capabilities, and we grapple for ways to deal with and understand them. Like a circuit board, we can become overloaded, and, in our desperation, the seemingly clearest and fastest solution to unloading with minimal damage is never to have been capable of bearing the load at all.

Would this world be better off without me? Would it make a difference when I wouldn’t even be aware of anything anymore? My consciousness, emotions, and experiences would never have existed. I would not and never would or have ever … been. Would that be better?

Sometimes, being a part of this world feels unbearable. The weight of it becomes too heavy. The loneliness amplified in large crowds. The expectation too artificial. The sense of unbelonging becomes too much. But there is still beauty.

To simply not exist is an unattainable goal. It cannot be achieved, and even if it could, you would have no ability to perceive that it had been.

I do not always feel the desire to simply not exist. Like most, I go through lows and highs in my life, and I write this in reflection on a particularly low period I experienced recently. And sitting here on the other side of that, I feel grateful to say I can experience all things. I think one of the things that helped me through was watching Neon Genesis Evangelion, an anime that I never quite understood before. But after watching it again, I finally understood many of the messages conveyed through the characters, especially Shinji, because this time around, I saw myself. I saw my struggle with existence and how the world perceives me, and it felt nice to know I wasn’t alone. And neither are you.

A lot of the time, it is the small things that make the biggest difference. I remind myself that if I no longer existed, then I would miss out on experiencing many wonderful things. Things that admittedly won’t change the world and likely mean very little to anyone else. But these are the things that help me appreciate that I am fortunate enough to experience and have an awareness of.

The sound of my cat purring. The taste of homemade lemon meringue. The smell of rain and freshly cut grass. The helping hand when I can’t get the baskets at the grocery store unstuck. That one song lyric that speaks directly and only to me. The first sip of coffee in the morning. The postperson dropping off a package I’d forgotten I’d ordered. Freshly waxed legs on clean bedsheets. The unexpected tears of joy at the end of a good book or film.

My mum gifted me a copy of The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse by Charlie Mackesy a few years ago, and this picture book which appears for children at first glance is really for everyone. I cry every time I read it and I don’t try to hold back those feelings anymore. I allow myself the experience in its entirety. Whether you are experiencing your low now, have made it to the other side, or haven’t reached it yet, I would like to leave you with this message from Mackesy.

Speak to a counsellor at BeyondBlue on 1300 22 4636.
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If you’re in crisis or feeling unsafe, please call 000 or Lifeline on 13 11 14.