Sometimes I think I was born suicidal. No idea whether or not that’s actually possible, but I was certainly born … damaged. I’m choosing my words carefully, I don’t know how much I want to say yet.
But yes. Born damaged and then damaged a whole lot more in various ways.
I made one serious attempt many years ago and one that turned out farcical a few years ago and now … now I am sure of many more things and so I have some leeway, when the damage allows it.
Perhaps I will have time to write the longest suicide note in the world and then, I hope, as good an end as possible. Suicide, but not yet, because I have a couple of responsibilities I’ve sworn not to shirk.
I’ve been fading to all intents and purposes for some time now. You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to be reclusively off grid.
By the time I go I will be somewhere else and nobody will notice – and that’s how it must be (for me). It feels right.
And yes, I am aware of just how far up my arse my head is.