A tiny pill, happy, numb
A death-like sleep, soulless blood
Conditions were set long ago
Potential burns, the ashes snow
Up that night, looking at scars
Whisperings, those many marks
‘Want death, feel sad, depressed’
‘Sit still and wane in worthlessness’
My soul should be thrown in
And spread for all it’s worth
Whatever blessed glow is left
Is fully undeserved
I have the time now, to sort through the disorganized lines I wrote weeks ago and put a message together to explain what’s really been going on in my head. I don’t think too highly of myself, ever. I am taking things day by day, with a small goal to make it through November.
My mother and I were out having dinner a few nights ago and I blatantly rushed in the question to her about what she wanted me to do, I hoped in a way that gave away my desperation. To get more specific, I asked her about school and the ‘what if’s’ regarding my student loan. Like what if my loan doesn’t cover certificate programs, only degrees-what am I to do after that (since I really don’t think I’d make it through finishing an entire degree’s worth workload, whether it’s two years or not)? She didn’t go into things that far into the future, because I could tell, it left her just as unsettled as it leaves me every second I think about it.
Inside I’ve gone very quiet. Knowing that this winter I could be out on the streets by choice, or dead the same leaves me with nothing else to say. I know it’ll be something unpleasant, but deserved, waiting for me. After all, aren’t I too lazy, or broken and screwed in the head to finish school, or get a job, or live at all? Aren’t I too selfish or too stuck up to live for what I’ve been given, no matter how I feel?
You know, it’s settling in again. The whole ‘I’m not going to be around to care’ thread of thought. What a failure. And I can only guess that a part of the reason I’ve drastically messed with when and how much I eat and drink now is to prove to myself that I can commit to something. Stupid, but what else do I really have to manipulate but this body in which I’m trapped? Who’s it hurting?
It’s just that I can’t stand myself, I mean look; I don’t really own the mateiral things I have because I am not the one who earned the money to buy it all you know? I still can’t legally drive, so going places is not on my terms, always someone elses, and even if it were on my terms, I have no where I would want to go, I have no friends to see, no family that wants to see me unless it’s necessary, and I’ve lived so long in this house feeling taken for granted. But even if I were gone, what I do for others wouldn’t be missed. I’m not enough to consider, nor should I be. I don’t need to stick around.
I don’t know what an expert would call it, chroniclly suicidal, or with suicidal ideation, whatever this is, I don’t know why I keep it such a close thought. I don’t know why it brings me comfort or why I see it as an option always there for me to consider. It’s just been this way for a few years now, and maybe I should be labeled a coward or a loser because I will be the first to say that I want to run away, that I am afraid and pathetic. But mostly I will say I am angry with who I am, and with it being dificult for me to make the changes within to make my life easier. And also because I simply don’t know what I want, and feel my time has run out to think about it. I always thought and belived that by eighteen I had to know the plan for the rest of my life, that I had to want this and that in order to be called a success. I turn nineteen in what, three weeks, not any closer to a solution, besides disappearing all together. Not that any of this matters….I don’t have a plan, for living or dying right now. Just getting through November without completely losing myself to my thoughts is enough of a plan/goal.
