By Mia Maysack, PNN Columnist

At this moment in my life, I’ve chosen to continue on -- out of spite, if nothing else. I’ve chosen to quit entertaining the intrusive, dark thoughts that creep in and try to take over.

However, as an individual enduring a chronically ill and persistently pained existence, I’ve spent a lot of time torn between putting forth my best efforts for a great life and just wanting it all to be over.

We’re urged to reach out to loved ones when we’re sad or depressed. But everyone has their own problems and most likely wouldn't know what to do with ours. We don't want to burden anyone, despite their claims that they'd rather get a call about someone’s troubles than receive an announcement about their death.

Our society is sick enough to promote or even force life, but then does little to improve the quality of it for people who need it most.

Rather than sitting with you in the thick of your sh*t, we’re assured that "You got this!" as they wash their hands clean. Your very real experience is disregarded because it makes people uncomfortable.

I realized death was something I’d lusted after when a friend recently “unalived” herself. Underneath the immense hurt and grief, I was soon overcome with envy.

Each time I'd work my nerve up, there was always a reason not to, for the sake of other people. Someone's birthday or a holiday would be around the corner. Somebody would reach a milestone I'd wish to celebrate. Then my deep longing would be set to aside for a while.

I'd even forget about it sometimes, despite the constant gnawing of despair that’d inevitably claw its way through my soul from the inside out.

I would tune out the despair and do my best to concentrate on things like blessings and gratitude instead. Then I'd get down on myself for fixating on all that was "wrong" in my life, as opposed to simply allowing all that was *right* to be enough.

There came a point that it didn't matter how much of myself I gave away to the world, the extent I'd show up for others, volunteer my time, give away my possessions or donate my money.

It also didn't seem to make much of a difference how busy I kept myself or how many meditations I did on thankfulness; with the reminder that we're all one in this world, connected by the singular vibrational pulse of our shared universe.

Blah, blah, blah.

I did everything I could reasonably think of to pour into myself. I loved fiercely, gave my all to those I cared about, did what I could to assist others in their misery, and made it my life's mission to ease suffering in any minor way that was within my capabilities.

The truth is that, even without my spirit exiting this realm, I've already died several times over.  

The selfishness of it all is when a point is reached that we’re no longer able to love this world or those in it more than we absolutely despise existing.

I think this is where people get things twisted when they attempt to make sense of why someone would decide to end their life.

It baffles me to comprehend that there are some who've never felt like this, who are so privileged that they cannot even begin to fathom or wrap their head around it. It also rubs me wrong when people try to make another person’s death all about themselves.

Can you imagine how the actual individual must have felt to reach a point that this was believed to be their absolute last, best and only option?  I think as humans we can only endure so much, to the point when there is no turning back.

Being on your own to sort through it all certainly doesn't make things easier. Your loved ones often misunderstand you or just skip straight to worry. The professionals approach things from a data standpoint and are quick to blemish your mental health record. Authorities report and may even incarcerate you “for your own protection.” Communities consider open discussion of these topics taboo. And the churches will condemn you to hell --- as if you don't already feel like that's where you're living.

Where does a person turn?  Where can we get actual help?

I have come to accept that my most authentic answer, based on my own experience, was nowhere. Nowhere other than within.

I’ve shared what has worked for me to make it as far as I have. I’ve also been very candid about my less than perfect moments. I’ve elevated those around me and did everything within my power to uplift each person I'd ever come into contact with.

I think we can hurt to a point we just do not recover from it. We can only take so much and each of us has a limit. There are certain things that can occur in a person's life where their brain doesn't return to a state of normalcy. You reach a sort of depletion that is permanent, to the point it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Because what we’re enduring feels like it’s not survivable.

A person can reach a point of believing that the pain of their absence cannot come close to the agony they’ve endured just about every day of their life.

I've chosen to prefer being alive and in pain, as opposed to laying 6 feet underground experiencing nothing. That's the bottom line for me. I think the fact that we've hushed these conversations for so long plays a role in killing people. As a society, we need to take a look at that and accept some responsibility.

What we don’t tend to, withers. Thus, I am taking the remaining power I still possess and using it to water myself. I invite you all to do the same.

Mia Maysack lives with chronic migraine, cluster headache and fibromyalgia. She is a healthcare reform advocate and founder of Keepin’ Our Heads Up, a support network; Peace & Love, a life coaching practice; and Still We Rise, an organization that seeks to alleviate pain of all kinds.