Death is a Glowing Exit Sign

I don’t know if you’ve seen that slam poem, but you should. You know the one by the guy who has bipolar disorder where he says “I think a lot about killing myself, not like a point on a map but rather like a glowing exit sign at a show that’s never been quite bad enough to make me want to leave” and then goes on to talk about the future and make you cry? I watched that poem once and I remember that line sticking with me, always in the back of my head, always there when I was feeling like doing it.

I think my method would be a car accident. I mean I’ve thought about it a lot– since I was twelve actually– and I’ve thought about all types of ways of killing myself, I just find a car accident would be the most ambiguous. That way no one would know I did what I did, it was just a tragic accident that came too soon or what have you.

I had a shitstorm start when I was twelve that I haven’t really moved on from yet. I mean six years later and it still whirls as strong as it did then. Sometimes I get a break, but you know how it is. Things always come back. In chronological order it goes like this: sexually assaulted, uncle dies, aunt dies, dad seriously injured in accident, grandpa dies, best friend tries to kill himself, cousin dies. There’s an eating disorder and lots of self-harm in there as well. Not to mention an everpresent shitty feeling. My family knows about the deaths. No one knows about any of the other shit.

At school I am a goddess or something. You know those people who are good at everything and don’t ever look like they’re trying? That’s me. Honors student, youth ambassador to France (that means I spent a year living in Europe and being ambassador-y), editor of the school magazine, student council chair, French club president, volunteers a lot, sings well, pretty, the whole shebang. I fucking hate myself. I hate the way people see me. I’m either competition or an idol and I hate being either one because I’m a god damned person, not a road bump or a deity and its so stressful to be either. I am considered invincible. I am not fucking invincible. I can’t stand it. I cannot.

This is why I can’t tell anyone what’s happening in my head. The family is always on the edge of a nuclear explosion due to the most recent death, all of my friends think I have everything figured out, I cannot stand who I am and I’m just so tired.

I am so tired. Of being someone that I’m not, of being forced to do things that don’t interest me, of being constantly one step away from disappointing people, of not knowing how to reach out to others, of not feeling right. I don’t want to do this anymore.

This show is so bad. The exit sign glows brighter.