This time of year, lots of people are reflecting on what they’ve done the past year. They are thinking of their goals, how they mean to change, and they tell me these things. They are my friends, I love them. In this however, I cannot relate to them. The ambivalence and hopelessness I feel has created a numbness to hope or long term desire. I just keep wondering, when is it going to happen? How will it happen? Will I have the courage to finally die?
I have therapy soon. I don’t know why I even bother anymore. Lately I’ve been leaving there more stressed than relieved. There is a great weight of all the things I would need to do should I hope to get better. Each is as out of reach as the next. I tell people I’m okay. I’m faking it. I’m just waiting.
Stumbling from impulse to impulse. My new years resolution is to die.
I just realized something. I need to fully remove myself from people, if I hope to succeed in my necessary task. I have borderline personality disorder, and feeling the love of those not currently feeding me love into my head holes is much harder for me. A lack of emotional permanence I’ve heard it called. Love peekaboo. The thing is, the people in my life, as transient and separate they may be, permanent and with me as they may be, are the reason I’m still here. I need to not be here. I cant do this for much longer, I don’t want to, I want to be in control of it. Maybe I’ll write another post on a separate subject before bed.
Why am I writing all this? I need a vent for all these feelings, I feel like a traitor to love and the work that has gone into sustaining me; emotional, financial and so on. There are people who care, but there is no one I can truly talk about this to. Maybe y’all get it. If i seem cold, detached, it’s an affected thing I suppose. I’m really sentimental and I cling to the things that make me feel good, make me feel useful. It’s all a drug. I sober up from my own self love eventually. I am nothing. I am a whisper in the great 200 thousand year howl.
I found an old suicide note today. I hope none of this comes off as cringey and impulsive as that. I’m so stoned, so tired. Fuck it.
Recently I had a doctors appointment. Going in I hoped to accomplish some transition related stuff (i’m a trans woman.) The doctor shot down my ideas, and then said to even get there I’d have to quit smoking. An unlikely prospect. I’m going to die half baked. Midway through a she-hulk. Quasimodo with better tits. I find it hard to consistently use my new practiced voice, and my dysphoria grows, shows itself, kicks me in the stomach.
I have a girlfriend. Her arms. Sanctuary.
Still, I feel wretched. Even when I’m having a good time I’m willingly or unwillingly daydreaming about my suicide. Wondering. Waiting. It’s arms. Sanctuary.
I have so many regrets. Maybe I’ll bring them up later. I have to sleep now.
So much to talk about, so little time. Happy new year.