About two years ago, I had gone through about a yearlong bout of major depression that, if allowed to go on, would have with some luck been my ultimate demise. But at some point, I kind of "lost it", I guess.
I had for awhile struggled with meaninglessness and a vehement disdain for hedonism (I still have that in fact), along with some less-pretentious personal problems and stupid shit like tfw no gf. But in particular I had always had a general unhappiness - even as a kid, I remember saying stupid shit about killing myself that seemed to concern people. Maybe I was just being a lord of the edge, or maybe my genuine dissatisfaction was brought on from, again, something stupid like just not being accepted in my peer group ever since I was in school. But for whatever reason, I've always been an unhappy person.
So with that in mind, it becomes hard to justify existing. "Meaning" is such a confused, vague concept that seems impossible to attain in fulfilling the Existentialists' general beliefs that we all create our own meaning. Sure, we create justifications for what we do phenomenologically rather than because of some innate "meaning" hardwired into us by a God, but we have no right to these meanings we create.
The post-structuralists and those who came after Existentialism in general in both the Analytic and Continental traditions kind of tear Existentialism apart in this regard. Post-structuralists, for instance, would argue that any "meaning" we believe ourselves to have created cannot help but come from the stock of cultural resources that have been afforded to us; or, even more radically, we do not choose from these cultural resources with any degree of agency at all, but really we can only helplessly act them out like marionettes. And then you have the Analytics, someone like Quine for instance, who would argue that, linguistically-speaking, the meanings of words must be couched in naturalism. We ascribe meanings to words based on consensus, and this consensus must be rooted in something as universal as naturalism (i.e. The belief that we all essentially act based on basic scientific principles like survival, and that everything else cannot help but proceed from this no matter how different and special it may seem) in order for common meanings of words to be possible. If we have our own private meanings that we "create", meaningful communication would be impossible without proving there is an innate background language that is common amongst all humans. This would be more of a rationalist, Chomsky position.
But anyways, I'm not a linguist, and this was just a tangent to illustrate that I looked for something greater than pleasure because I for some reason have never enjoyed life. But I don't believe in God, and I've lost faith in the concept of "meaning" as well - in the present time, at least.
So why haven't I killed myself yet? I stopped caring about my own unhappiness, in a sense. I don't see a reason to put any effort towards killing myself; if I were someone else, for instance, I probably wouldn't kill me, because I don't see the point to it. I don't call myself a nihilist entirely, I still try to stubbornly fight it, but I've come to see how overwhelmingly tempting it is at least.
But if I'm why people come to /grim/ or /grim/ stuff instead of /suicide/, then this place is worse than /suicide/. I miss being able to feel miserable, because at least I felt something.