No such thing as 100%

I’m not a high school student who failed a test or was dumped by someone I had a crush on.

I’m not a twenty year old with no direction in life and alone.

I’m not thirty years old, single, unmarried, with a mediocre job and a mortgage.

I’m 44 years old… that’s important to know.

When I first killed myself, I was 18. After I was brought back, everyone told me that life would get better–that all I had to do was just hang in there for a little while longer.

When I attempted to kill myself at 27, everyone told me that life would get better and all I had to do was to think positive thoughts.

I met a girl at 37, so I skipped that decade of suicide. Life was great, she was wonderful, her kids were fantastic, I had a great job, new lease on life. I actually started to believe the BS people had told me all those years prior. I even wrote a book. Then the publisher stole all of the money I had invested and all of the proceeds; my job demoted me to a position I absolutely hated (last one hired, first one fired); someone started spreading rumors to my girlfriend that I was sleeping with someone else and after five years of faithfulness and loyalty, she actually believed that I did and we broke up. In a year, I lost a girl, job, future, and family. So at 41, I killed myself.

And was brought back for a second time. Wound up in a medical hospital and then a mental hospital.

Where are those idiotic people who said at 18 and 28 that my life would get better? Where are those fools who said “all you have to do is think positive”? Where are all of those, “hold one for one more day” idiots?

So I take meds to even out my moods. BTW, those meds nuke Mr. Happy. No firm decisions for him any more… welcome to the city called, “Erectile Dysfunction”–population: me. Didn’t kill the sex drive though–that would be too perfect.

So I’m in a cramped apartment somewhere in Minnesota, ordering take out just about every day and feeling horrible. I hate life down to the core; but after four suicide attempts (two successful), I’m just not into killing myself any more. Since I’m God’s personal television set, he keeps bringing back the show no matter how many times I try to cancel the series. I’m almost to the belief that I just can’t die. Electrocution, poison, slitting the wrists, stepping out in front of a moving truck. None of those gave me a solid day in the hospital–just an overnight. I simply cannot win.

But the thing that really upsets me is that there are people out there–parents, police officers, soldiers, loved ones–who are killed EVERY SINGLE DAY who actually enjoy life–who want to live. I’ve asked God on on numerous occasions to let me die in their place… let them who enjoy life have mine.

NOPE. Too easy.

So here I sit in my small apartment… my only distraction is an online video game that is about to be canceled in November. I had so much anger when I was younger and everyone kept telling me to release the hatred; to be calm, to forgive. Now I realize that the anger was keeping me driven and focused. It gave me purpose and motivation. I bettered myself because I was angry at life and who I was. I wrote my book out of sheer anger. Now I feel nothing. No fear, no hope, nothing. If God were truly merciful, my heart wouldn’t beat again and I wouldn’t take another breath. But I’ve been asking for that since I was 17 years old, proving that HE isn’t a merciful as you would believe.

Last rant and then I’m through… I wrote a short story called, “He Sat.” it was about a man who killed his best friend and was about to be electrocuted by the State. He is being interviewed by a reporter who keeps inquring about the murder. He tells her that he worked two or three jobs only to make a mediocre amount of pay. He said that he went to the gym two hours, three times a week to gain muscles to no avail. He said that he plastered cremes and acne medications on his face every night to help his looks and after four years, he still breaks out and has dark spots. His friend, on the other hand, was naturally good-looking, naturally smart, naturally muscular and had God-Given gifts that came naturally. My favorite line in the story is, “I run all of the time trying to better myself! What does he do? He sits! How can he be so much better than be when all he does is sit?”

I have TWO friends like that. TWO. Like dog poop, God rubs my nose in it every single day.

I quit. I obviously can’t kill myself and I have the emotion range of a teabag. My body feels numb 24/7 and I can literally go through an entire day without a single thought entering my brain–my body can function all by itself; even it doesn’t need me.

I’m done.