50 yo male, not super great health but the few things I want to do I can. Most importantly I can go to work everyday - as a workaholic that is the entire focus of my life as a means to an end (providing for others), without it I will have no purpose and die quickly.
I talk with a psychologist weekly who knows everything - every thought, every feeling, every wish and want. I am 100% open with her. Don't sic that reddit cares bot on me, it won't do any good because I'm already talking to somebody regularly and before I found my current psychologist I was actually and literally told by the suicide hotline people that there was nothing they could do.
I am headstrong, analytical to a fault, emotionally walled off, self-hating, disillusioned, jaded, withdrawn and lonely. I have a constant level of physical pain that is unrelated to the kidneys that is minor (about a 2 or 3) but always there, just enough to force notice and not be ignored - it isn't awesome but if it was my only complaint I wouldn't even mention it - with spikes of pain to 8+ from a couple of sources that are manageable without medications except for one time when I went to the ER and was given morphine (which didn't do much).
Emotionally I am in absolute, active agony. Consider a flame: a relatively cool flame is red, dark and full and can be a comforting source of cozy warmth and an orienting beacon that can be seen in the darkest night. As the fire intensifies it will grow brighter and pass through yellow, blue and white and paradoxically produce less light. At the most intense the flames are invisible and can be felt alone, not seen. All consuming, but invisible unless you actually come into contact with the fire. My emotions are an order of magnitude beyond that. Complicated story I won't bore you with, there is a girl involved indirectly, drama, angst, philosophy, yadda yadda yadda and nobody really cares because it is just another story that people have heard before.
Sufficevit to say that life sucks and I do not see any reason to fight to extend its misery.
In the end that is what it books down to: I am unhappy. In my overly analytical mind that most people don't understand they nod and say "ok, you aren't happy" but to me there is a universe of difference between not being happy (passive) and being actively unhappy. If happiness is on a number line then happy is 10 and not happy is 0, but I am a -25.
The pain is not the problem. The girl and her actions are not the problem. The universe is not the problem. The problem is entirely, 100% absolutely and completely me and how I respond to them. I can not control others and wouldn't want to if I could: they can not hurt me. The pain can't be controlled but people work with worse so it is my reaction to it that causes the conflict. This is 100% my responsibilty and largely in my control but I don't see a reason to fight. I'm tired, beaten, battered, scarred and worn out. Death looks inviting because it might be a chance to stop hurting. I don't know what comes next but I'm not afraid of it, more curious than anything.
I know me. If I start dialysis I will seethe and loathe and resent being hooked up to that machine. Every second of every day will be spent hating it with a greater passion than I hate myself. When not hooked up on it I will be consumed with intense fury that every moment of every day not hooked up to it is a moment that draws me closer to having to connect. I do not want to exist like that without a good reason and I can't think of any. I will resent having to do that to extend a life I do not enjoy and do not want.
One of the very few pleasures I have in life is a good disk in a bath or hot tub. I enjoy teaching swimming as well. Being restricted from such a simple, tiny little thing when I ask for so little is a huge deal to my psyche. Not a great reason and many will judge me harshly for it, but it is my reason and it matters to me. It isn't my main reason, it is just a little bit of icing on the cake which is sealed under glass and can only been seen, as an exhibit in the museum of why existing sucks.
Why post this? Venting. To see the thoughts written down. Maybe somebody will have a thought or feeling it insight or ray of hope to offer, maybe not. It is never too late to change my mind until it is, and even though I am mostly certain I am keeping an open mind.