Suicide. I’m two miles out. I look down. If I jump here, I’m stuck in that stuff. I would probably suffocate and die before anyone got here to help me. I’m not sure they could help me. It’s too mucky.
I wasn’t lonely. I was alone, gleefully, for the first time in months.
I wasn’t crowded. There were too many people, but no more than usual and at least we were all outside.
I am not more depressed than I have been. It’s sunny out, a relatively nice day, and my plan is going fairly well.
So why the fuck am I thinking of jumping off a bridge and drowning myself in nasty, stinky mud? Why am I not enjoying the water or nature or the birds? Why am I committing suicide in my head?
In part because I have given up on anything ever working out for me. I don’t even fantasize about winning the lottery anymore. I don’t even check the one ticket I buy a month. I know God hates me and I won’t win. I am apathetic if anything.
You know right now every human in my residence has their own device. Each person entrenched in their own world. In this way I can maintain mild distraction from the shit life I have not built. In this way I can attempt to be less worse than I was a second ago. In this way I can lose myself into the meaningless droning of another depreciative post about the ins and outs of a shit life.
No one will really notice, but I didn’t kill myself today.
Nothing is really going wrong. The bills aren’t paid, but the kids are fed and I’m working hard. I’m still ugly as fuck and fat. I will never amount to shit. No one gives a flying fuck about me, but that’s nothing new either. I don’t really give a crap about anyone else today. I wish I did, but the hate that is all over the world it seems like has me down a little… Nothing is going right. But then, it never does.
But I didn’t kill myself today.
No one will notice.
And so there I am staring over the bridge down to the muck maybe twenty feet down, probably closer to ten feet though. I wonder about zombies, and vampires and reality. I wonder about being ditched, and honestly I’m apathetic. I decide to not finish the last couple hundred feet of bridge. I turn back to go the mile and a half to my car and then my friend is there and I don’t have time to sort out why the fuck I’m out on a beautiful day thinking about offing myself like some melodramatic emo teenager. Am I depressed again? Do I need to get meds again? This feels bad. I don’t think it’s depression. Borderline Personality Disorder maybe? That fits better, but I can’t be sure I’m not just imagining the whole thing.
So anyway she’s there and I’m happy to see her and I promised myself that I’d try to take selfies with friends when I did stuff with them, to make them feel like they matter and all, but then I wonder if she will think I’m wacky as f* cause she’s a new friend and she has millions of friends and probably she doesn’t really care, and I do care, and then I’m so confused as to why I was thinking about suicide on such a nice day that it really drained me instantly.
You’d think that with 2o years of experience with these thoughts I would just move on, but the only thing I’ve really learned is that you don’t talk about the thoughts. You don’t say a word because then it becomes a conversation piece. Like the thoughts are in a corner on a shelf and you are fucked up because you go over and pick the damned things up. As if you can control it and you’re a bad person and it isn’t something that happens to you, it’s a choice you make and continue to make because you suck at personing.
I suck at personing.
I suck at friending and happying and sexing. I suck at life, which is why I’d like to stop now, but I guess it’s bad to kill yourself. I guess that’s bad, but I don’t really care. I don’t know why I don’t just kill myself, but today was nice and now I’m tired and I really just don’t understand why I have to be such a melodrama emo freak. What is wrong with me?
In case you were wondering, the thoughts aren’t on a fucking shelf and I don’t pick the damned things up. I was enjoying the bridge and the water and the mud and the thoughts of Zombie Apocalypse. But I didn’t go choose to pick the thoughts up. The thoughts were there and I didn’t tell them to go away because I wanted to figure out why they were there, and I don’t know why they were there. I don’t understand why they are such a constant. What am I getting from these thoughts that I couldn’t get another way? How can I find a better way? How can I be better? How can I do better? I want to get better, and I’d go to counseling if I thought that would help, but you know the truth? I don’t have fucking time. I don’t have money. Oh yea, and I live in total shit. I am reaching none of my life goals and you can only be so positive about having such a bull shit life.
Oh and Captain Narcissist (and now I’m thinking possibly Captain Bipolar) has come back down from his mood and forgiven me for the time being. Now to see what I do next that send him into a months long rage because I “never” or “always” or whatever….
Fuck you life. I hate you.
PS, what do I do with the categories and tags? I think I’m using them wrong. Is there a “right” way? I just want to be normal with one fucking thing!!!!!!