A torrid year. Soon enough it’ll be one full year since I planned and fully intended to execute those plans to end my life. I’m still here. Still alive. Sometimes it feels that’s in spirit only though.
As the days pass and the weeks roll on and the months turn into a blur, there is only one thing that spurs me on, keeps me going, bigs me up and makes life even remotely tolerable.
“One day closer to death”
With each day that passes, consoling myself with the fact that it is just one day closer to death; one day nearer the end of life; one day to tick off my calendar.
You’d think that after last year’s debacle and near-death-whatever-it-was experience that I would have improved somewhat and gone on to bigger and better things. However, the truth is that I don’t thank those who fought to keep me alive and well and kicking. I do thank them but I don’t for preventing me. That’s why I don’t resonate with those people who have failed suicide attempts and thank whoever for not succeeding.
Often you hear of people who were so depressed that they wanted to end their life and then years later recount how they were glad they never managed it. I don’t feel that way. I wish I’d just done it. Life is shit. Always has been and always will be.
Sounding ungrateful as usual? yes, absolutely. That’s my thing. Life been good? Nope. Will it get better? Perhaps. Well, it will if I decide it’s worth living. Haven’t decided yet. I’m in limbo. Shall I or shall I not? Right now it feels like it’s pointless. Everything I try to make things better fail. Every time I try to pull myself in the right direction, something happens to snap that rope; a rope which, quite frankly, would be better off tied tightly round my neck. Be useful rope. Be useful.
Honestly, if i had the guts to do it, I’d be gone by now. Left in limbo. Worst place to land.
Fucking limbo.