the only truth is this:

i hate my life and i wish i was dead

sure, take away everything that makes my life worth living.

i have to go talk to a razor blade.

but not in the funny way

only when he's bored

That feeling when someone makes plans with you and then repeatedly dumps them without warning for random non-emergencies. I love knowing I'm less important than a TV show.

abandoned again

really, why does it surprise me any more

i'm worthless. everyone things so.

me, too.

i gave up my last outlet for stress so you wouldn't worry

and now it's ripping my head apart.

the two parts of my mind argue with each other

anxiety says:
worry. and worry. and worry some more.
children having troubles in their lives that i can't fix.
someone decides to sue me.
always fearful that my job will go away.
are my cats sick? are they dying?
will i be alone and loney for the rest of my life?

despair says:
it doesn't matter, none of it.
there's nothing worth staying around for.
i might part the smooth continuance of my skin
with a razor blade,
and let everything that's inside
spill over the wet red mouth it makes,
and then go to sleep.

The universe exists to shit on people like me.

For every tiny good thing that happens in my life, it's "balanced" out by something huge and horrific. The death of a loved one. Loss of a job. Health woes. Abandonment by a lover.

I've been alone for more than three years now. Ill for over twenty years. Living in breaking poverty for almost four years.

Death seems like a much kinder alternative. No joy, sure, but no pain, either. Better by far than this existence.

last word for the night

And it's the big one.

you think they would have caught this years ago

Last Epitaph

Copyright 1982

This is my last epitaph
Gone, a victim of
one menace only.
Taken by a force
I had control of.
To others, a fable,
No power to hurt
Only a word
softly spoken.

Suicide.

poem, untitled

Art on my skin

words sinking in

ink in dark red

wish i was dead

sharp is the blade

scars i have made

pain bleeding through

can't listen to you

i am not here

i have nothing to fear

when will it be done

is it just begun?

please let me go

i dont want to know

just let me be

i need to be free

Maybe I should.

Painfully obvious.

I know.

I try.

I try, but...

...there really is nothing that makes me want to stay on this planet for any longer.

But it'd break my mother's heart, and might induce my daughters to follow me, and...

...do I NEVER get to get away from this pain?

You might have heard about white privilege, or male privilege, or straight privilege.

There's also suicide privilege.

I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder at the age of 12. I have since gone on to have two children, both of whom are adults now (one turns 27 this year; the other turns 24). My dysfunctional mental genes have been passed on to both children, unfortunately.

I want to die. I have promised myself that I won't kill myself until after my cats have all passed on of natural causes, because they're all old cats who would have no success in being rehomed. They'd be put down rather quickly, especially as several of them have health issues. I love them too much to do that to them.

But after that?

Yeah.

Now, I fully claim the right to end my own pain at a time of my choosing.

My children have both had periods of time when their own depression led them toward similar feelings.

But rather than accept that they also have the right to escape their depression in a final manner, I recoil from the idea that they might end their lives prematurely. I don't want them to waste their lives, even though I fully acknowledge that their pain may be every bit as bad as my own.

Suicide privilege.