It’s about time there’s a place like this, because the truth is, friends and family don’t want to hear your pleads; they especially don’t want to hear about your latest overdose, cut, burn, in attempts to escape reality.
People don’t always understand depression, anxiety, pessimism, why simple tasks can be so heart breaking for some. They tell you to get over it, stop it, life will get better bullshit. They don’t know how to help, or how to face you.
I use to talk about death all the time with my best friend, she’s heard seven years of my pain. This year, I realized she had enough, she doesn’t want to hear anymore of my suicidal fiend. Which is understandable, depressive people depress other people. I live for her, and for my books, however I just realized I don’t care if I lose my materialism in life.
At first I wanted to get out of this hell house, find an apartment, pour gasoline all over my new room, and things that are linked to me, and overdose in the hail of fire. But now, I don’t even care if I get an apartment, I’m content to do this in my parents house. I’m a packrat, so I have to burn my things, it’s a must. Knowing I can do this here, is worrisome, because my head is progressing.
As it stands, I don’t even like the idea, you know why? Because I want the mortician to gawk at all my scars, for some odd reason. I have 10 years worth of scar tissue…I haven’t seen anyone quite like me yet.Â
Now I’m just playing the waiting game…for my best friend.