The Weight of Isolation and Grief

Trigger Warning:

This post discusses suicidal ideation and feelings of hopelessness. Writing about these thoughts can be a way to cope and find some relief. If you or someone you know is struggling, please seek professional support.

I feel as if I’ve reached the end of the road. No one cares about what I want for my life. I have no ability to live independently. There’s nobody to discuss my reflections on Jean Baudrillard, Deleuze, and Guattari, the intersection between the personal and the political, or the feedback loop between the delusions of AI and the delusional user. No one reads me and takes my ideas seriously. I may be able to think about abstract concepts, but I am also suffering from mental illness and am not likely to be able to hold a decent job, receive recognition, or find like-minded people. Most likely, I’ll just slowly fade away and lose my academic ambition. I’ve exhausted all my friends. I can’t think of any grant or scholarship for people with mental disabilities.

I love my mother, sister, aunt, and my cute nephews. I should be holding on just because I don’t want to hurt them. The support they can provide me is rather limited, and just the thought of starting over with complete strangers—some of whom can be seriously ill people with significant cognitive impairments—is daunting. I wanted to have a normal life. I wanted to become a scholar, a mother, a partner. The grief and isolation related to mental illness can be overwhelming. Right now, I don’t want to comfort myself or remind myself that those moments are temporary and that there’s more to life than isolation and grief. It just feels so cruel to be forced to move to another city, not being able to pursue my master’s degree because I don’t have money. That’s all.