Poverty and Other Prolonged Poisons

I’m not a stranger to happiness, I’ve experienced the sensation on a multitude of occasions, but those were obviously short lived. Everyday, I witness at least one individual who seems outwardly pleased, happy even. These people are usually middle class or above, with clean clothes, nice teeth, smiling faces, and an excess of money that they intend to spend on those things that make them happy.

What kinds of things make me happy? Well, right now all I can think about is food. But who am I kidding? I can’t afford that shit.

There are just some people in the world that won’t live happily, mainly because life is a teasing form of torment, and those who are reminded daily of the reasons why we suffer are the ones like myself who contemplate regularly on the beautiful release death must provide. I don’t know what’s going on in my mind anymore. I have no confidence. I have no purpose. I exist vicariously through the generosity of my friends, and through the guilt of my family. I don’t fucking know what to do except take my life, I’m fucking freaking out. I’m so damn broke, and I have such a shaky relationship with my dad, that my family has chosen his side and now I’m alone. I’m so fucking alone, I’m so goddamn pathetic.

How do people even carry on anymore? How do people even give the effort to live when money is the only remedy to death? I’d rather burn the world’s supply of money and tyrants with me, cursing the very thought of currency.

People die everyday involuntarily for the rich, for those fucking manipulative trolls who hold all the gold over our heads after cutting us down at the knee’s, so we worship their money LIKE FUCKING SLAVES!

I’m running low on resources, and by that I mean clothes, shoes, valuables worth selling, and food, which is my only daily motive; find food. I sold almost everything I can just to try and maintain afloat, but it does nothing. Not a fucking thing. I’m completely running myself aground and no one knows how badly I wish for death, how fucking badly it cripples my minute to minute thoughts.

That disgusting plague of a thought that sits in my mind every minute, “IF I just had a bit more money, it would all be ok.” But I can’t hold on to money, because life is too goddamn fucking expensive for a lonely, hungry, frightened young man. I’m fucking sobbing right now this is so ridiculous.

I applied to a job, totally destroyed both interviews, I got the job, but for fucks sake the fucking background check has taken so long to recover my social security number, I am running out of options, and I think I ran out of time. I can only crash on this couch for so long. I used to have my own place. I used to have loved ones. I used to be a goddamn US Paratrooper for fuck’s sake, and I have nothing.

Death.

Release.

Debt free.

Free.

That’s what I feel in my chest when I think about killing myself. Peace. Calm. Non-existent. To be truthful, I wish I had never existed. I know it can never be reversed and sadly I’m still alive, so I sit here on my friends iPad pretending that I’m hurling myself into traffic, jumping from the baseball stadium, setting myself aflame on television, anything to end my life and my unquenchable hunger, and my utter hatred for this flawed and decrepit money cycle that punishes the “less well off”.

I could be speaking pure nonsense, but truthfully, I wouldn’t know the difference. I’m tired of trying to enjoy my life, a life I never wanted, one that I sure as fuck didn’t ask for. In a room of family, I feel like a criminal. I room of strangers, I feel like a homeless pariah. In a room full of best friends, I feel like a no one.

I have to fucking kill myself. Oh my god I can’t fucking do this anymore. I don’t want to wait anymore, I don’t want to keep pretending. I’m so fucking over this.

These words only needed to be said, not necessarily read. If you to this point, just know that if I had ANY fucking money, it would be yours.

Take care of yourself.