Cross a road as you see a bus approaching far off in the distance, and wish it weren’t hundreds but a mere few feet away.
Peer over the hand rails of a bridge and imagine yourself plunging towards the watery depths below.
Drag a finger along the edge of a blade – wishing your finger were your neck instead.
Feel a faint sense of relief at the thought of others gazing downward at the lifeless body – it had imprisoned you for much too long.
Battle the urge to just jump .. to make the leap of faith into the abyss.
Become fixated upon the person you’ve wanted so deeply to know and understand, disgusted by their obliviousness to your internal suffering. How could they not know?
How many of you just wish you were never forced into this cruel game of chance, at the hands of those that you’ve been taught to love and adore?
Fuck this world
2 comments
I feel like this every day of my fucked up life.
I’ll tell you a story that seems germane to your post. When My daughter was 3 years old I was putting her into a car seat in the back of my car. As I bent over her I noticed a UPS truck coming down my street. It was obviously exceeding the 25 MPH speed limit of the street – going maybe 45 miles an hour. I thought of the opportunity. All I had to do was take two steps backward at the right moment and it would be all over. I probably wouldn’t feel much of the impact, and it would be over.
I froze for a second and started to shuffle my feet but then I looked into my daughter’s eyes and realized that she see her father tossed like a rag doll and scattered all over the road. And strapped into her car seat, she would be trapped there until someone came to help. It stopped me cold – I could not do that to her.
I don’t know if presented with the same opportunity and circumstances again, just what I would do. I might not be so “conscientious”.
I was walking home from work(I bused this local restaurant for a summer) one late night around 2AM, and upon crossing a Y turn, an SUV going 15-20~mph sped around the turn and clipped me right in my side, knocking me out of the way. It hit me around one of its headlights, and as a result I was knocked to the side and not directly forward. The car slowed down a bit after and drove away. Had I been mere inches in front of myself, I surely would’ve been hit head on and I’d likely be dead. I cry often thinking about that – not out of happiness that I survived it – but out of anger that I was so close to being free.