I’m 23, gay male and miserable a good deal of the time. I feel like I have no right to be so unhappy when I have so much going for me, but rather than feel guilty, I feel like, it’s not fare. Why would someone, God, Fate, Karma, whatever, give me so much to enjoy and so little capacity to enjoy it. I walked home alone tonight from a big drag show where everyone was having a good time. On the way out the door, I cheerily said goodbye to five friends, two of my therapists and the boy I’m in love with, who only thinks of me as a friend, and only ever will ( a fact I am too stubborn to accept) and as I walked out the door smiling, I thought “I think I’m gonna kill myself tonight.” I walked home past about thirty parties in thirty different apartments with thirty different sets of people I would have liked to get to know a year ago. I don’t know what changed. I used to be a happy person, an enigmatic person, a charismatic and confident person, but now I feel like a burnt out bulb with nothing to offer.
On the walk home, I kept hopping between two trains of thought; Railway one: How could I kill myself? Drowning is too cold, too wet, and what if I didn’t drown? Then I’d just be wet. Not dead, not better. I don’t have a gun or a gas stove. I have pills. I could take those pills, but what if I change my mind when it’s too late? And I don’t really want to be dead, I just want to be happy again. What changed? What made me unhappy? I can’t pinpoint it. I’m in therapy, but it’s not working. I want pills, I think I need medicine, but the doctors don’t know if I’m bipolar or if I’m depressed and since they don’t want to give me the wrong medicine, they didn’t give me any.
I’m supposed to see a psychiatrist in about three weeks. That’s an awful long time to be patient with emptiness.
I’m not sad per say, but I’m not happy. At all. It’s not the presence of sadness that makes me miserable, it’s the complete absence of happiness or passion or interest in anything or anyone. I’m tired of my friends, I’m tired of my dreams, I’m tired of my things and my body and my face. I’m tired of my hair and my shoelaces and my earrings. I’m tired of my thoughts and my ideas and my goals and my skills.
And I’m so lonely. I’ve never been in a relationship.
Railway two: How will they feel knowing that I walked home alone tonight contemplating how best to get rid of me? I feel like such an emo fourteen year old thinking things like this, but I think about him, the boy I love, I think about how I came back twice. I said “I’m leaving, I’m bored” then came back and said “I got bored trying to leave” Then promptly left again. He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t observe that this was strange behavior. He didn’t care… because he doesn’t love me. He likes me a lot. He says I’m a really good friend, a nice guy, and the best fuck he’s ever had. He wants to be really good friends… but he can only see me as a friend and he doesn’t. know. why.
I imagine him crying, he cries a lot, and saying “He left twice, I should have known. I should have stopped him.” I imagine him trying to stop me instead, tonight. He says “Are you okay?” and I say “You can’t save me.”
But it didn’t happen like that. I left. He let me.
And I think about my therapists. I think about how they’d be shocked and think “He was making such progress. He seemed so happy. How did this happen?” and they’d never get over it. I’d always be that one they didn’t see coming.
And I’d be every body’s best friend if I died. You know? How every body’s got a dead best friend? Even if they never knew the kid. It starts out “This kid killed himself at my high school” then, “This kid I knew killed himself at my high school” then, “This friend of mine killed himself” Then “He was my best friend.” Absence makes the heart grow fonder I guess.
I was daydreaming, on the walk home (it was a long walk) and hoping maybe there’d be a boy at my door when I got there. Just some guy. Either some guy I know or some guy I’d never met before in my life and he’d see me and say “I got a feeling I should be here tonight” and he’d just hold me and I’d cry for the first time in four years. I’d remember how to cry and he’d hold me and not say a thing, and he’d stay with me. But there wasn’t anyone here, and I didn’t run into any kind, observant, somewhat clairvoyant stranger on the walk home who would sense my inner turmoil, and I didn’t get a phone call from the boy I love when he suddenly realized something “wasn’t right” about my goodbye tonight, and I didn’t get a single facebook message from anyone wondering how my Friday night is going.
So when I got home, numb, empty, thinking I might swallow some pills or step off the fifth floor of my apartment building or stupidly call the boy I love and just say “Hi” all of which could result in my death; I turned on my computer and typed “I think I’m going to kill myself” into the search engine. The first thing that popped up was a song by Elton John, and the second was this site. Both were helpful.
I know I sound ridiculous. I even sound ridiculous to me, but it’s okay to sound ridiculous and be ridiculous, and even if it hurts and even if it doesn’t and I’m numb, I think maybe there are pills that can help me, and I’ve just gotta wait three weeks so I can try those pills, because how unfair would it be for someone, God, Fate, Karma, whatever, to give me so much to enjoy in this life, and for me to kill myself before I learn how to enjoy them?
I’ve just gotta wait a little longer and see. I’ll make it through tonight.