anyone else here not pro life for the sake of being pro life?

[Walking Void]

We are alive and our life's meaning is to live. Our bodies are rigged to fail sooner or later, and life itself can take you out at any time. The fact that you are alive is valuable. Don't believe me? Go ask a 5yr old Leukemia patient how much it's worth to have made it to adulthood. I live life minute by minute literally dealing with a faulty body that creates pain and/or decreases my ability to function. That actually makes me value my life more.

I might understand this and suggest the meaning: because if You are given difficulty for something as orthodox as basic function like running or changing posture between standing and prone, it requires more effort from You. My own body is so far healthy so I have no reason to complain unless I get spasms. I dropped interest in myself and became more interested in the lives of others because I have difficulty acknowledging myself except by looking through mirrors. I have "out of body" experiences when I think about these things, which is not normal I will say. I respect my body as much as anyone else's, but through my eyes all it is, is a tool for my ideals.

I do respect your right to believe whatever you please. But if you decide to kill yourself because you feel your life is worthless, I have qualms with paying for that. I'd rather ask the doctors to switch your consciousness with the dying five year old than pay that doctor to shut down your perfectly viable body.

Oh no, I am not 1 of those suicidal people. I contemplated that a long time ago, and I found it fruitless, in my opinion. I there was nothing to offer for that. By the way thanks for opting to alter my brain if things ever get weird for me. I like my mind the way it is, thanks.

Also, do you know what its like for the families and friends of suicide?

No. The closest thing I could think of would be my terminally ill second sister who died of a heart abnormality. She was just a newborn but She had dilated cardiomyopathy if I remember correctly. She was purple in colour, suffocating because her heart was not supplying enough oxygen to her body. Surgery at the time offered a low success rate, so my parents chose to let her go painlessly in hospice care because the technology in hospitals was not well equipped to deal with heart transfers on such frail bodies. I attended her funeral alongside my grandma. I was 4 at the time.

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Once a year my father gets manic and depressive because he has to face the anniversary of his parents deaths. I have to deal with his suicidal tendencies and I did think he was dead for four days once and mourned him. I always wonder if I 'have what they have'. I regularly consider why me and my brother who were 5 and 3yrs old, were not a reason good enough for them to keep on living. Everytime I look at my cousin who was born years after their death, I see a mirror image of my grandma. My heart breaks not for her, but for them, because they'll never get to know such a precious human being as she. Not a single school play or Christmas or birthday or graduation I attend of hers has not been marred by the heartbreaking realization of my grandparents loss. Their loss of precious experiences. Whenever I smell or see purple wildflowers I flashback to the day of their funeral, in the mountains. I hear my aunts voice wail moaning in that memory. Whenever I see my brother or hear about him or think about him my heart breaks because I know he does have what my grandpa had. His will to die is flared by my dads' 'I'm just gonna take a walk in the desert' episodes. Now my grandma, well she just got talked into doing it by grandpa. They were in their 50s and had spent the better of ten years gambling their life's worth away after moving to Las Vegas. When my mom finally left my dad after sticking through 22 years of volatile marriage, she cited the biggest reason being that she was afraid one day my dad would kill her, just like his dad had done to his own wife.
For 22 years I carried with me across. several state lines, a trunk full of notes and keepsakes that my grandma had prepared for me before her death. It was fifty pounds metal and I would open it once in awhile and be morose for an afternoon. My dad had it worse--he actually had to retrieve it from their apartment when they died. It was the only thing they actually didn't owe money on. I don't know how or why but my dad didn't have enough money to afford a cleaner. So he cleaned up their blood himself, and returned his sister their ashes with a box of the caliber pistol bullets, short only two pieces. My dad was never the same again, and is to this day fixated on dying.

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That sounds terrible, but I find it difficult to relate since I was not there.

Am I angered? Yep. Do I think what they did was selfish? Absolutely. Oh, absolutely. I don't even care whatever their reasons were for doing it (most likely debt and not wanting to go to nursing homes).
They might not have valued their own lives, but the repurcussions felt afterwards by so many people are enough reason for them to have lived, in my opinion.
Killing yourself doesn't solve anything. Your problems remain, in a wake of agony and pain.

Yes, it causes agony to other people who were close to them, like your grandparents to your dad. Imagine the anomaly, people out there who go without anyone knowing. I saw a link on Reddit the other day about a WW2 veteran who lived to 89 but died without any family or friends. Maybe I can find that link. This was an interesting discussion. Morbid, but interesting.