It was going to be today…

Last weekend I decided on today to be the best day to kill myself. It made a lot more sense than 7/2/15 because I didn’t see a connection in those numbers. But I like, and do like, how 11/30/77 to 7/30/15 looks and sounds. I’m a bit of a numbers freak, so dying on the same day of the month is appealing, along with the connection between my birth year (two 7’s) and it being the 7th month. Close enough. Like I said, I’m a numbers freak and I pay crazy attention to numbers. But what stopped me???? ….

I was (and do still) feel so hopeless, because I’ll be homeless for the rest of my life. There’s nothing I can do. I work two jobs, I can easily afford an apartment or to share a place with someone, but my credit has gone to hell from having had my credit cards stolen, and no one else will accept me as a roommate because of what I look like and that is the absolute fucking truth. So there’s not shit I can do. I’m sure being homeless will kill me in the end, my body isn’t going to be able to take it much longer. I may be forced to kill myself if my legs start weeping and get infected, because amputation is the next step and I couldn’t do anything for myself if I lost my legs. This is my biggest worry. And it would be so fucking simple to save my health and my legs if I could just lay down and sleep every single night to let the swelling go down. I only have a swelling problem because I’m forced to sit awake 24-7. My doctor said the waxy skin will eventually weep and can get infected to the point of total amputation. So either lay down and sleep every night or lose both legs in the end. But no, no one will fucking help and everyone else is only concerned with what a new roomie looks like.

But what stopped me from killing myself at some point between midnight last night and 4am this morning? While I was feeling absolutely miserable about being homeless and alone, and being so close in proximity but knowing I can’t get any emotionally closer to the man I love….. In the end, he ended up saying he hasn’t had anything done for his birthday ever, and hasn’t had a birthday out in several years. So I know I have to be able to do something for him to make it memorable. And I couldn’t do that to him. Because I am a friend he cares about, and I’m the only one really helping him out and there for him, and if I take that away by killing myself, I know the worst would happen to him, and he’d kill himself before being locked up again. This life is very hard, I don’t have shit to my name, I love him but he won’t ever be with me, yet I’ve got to keep him safe and sane and taken care of. It’s been the hardest fucking thing of my life but I just can’t quit on him and let him go down. I’m afraid I can’t kill myself just for how I feel. Only if I face amputation because I couldn’t even get on a fucking toilet if I had no legs. And I can’t live like that. But other than in the extreme, I’m stuck here.