I remember there was a time a few years back when I gave myself an “expiration date.” I had purchased some drugs that was meant to kill me and told myself “if shit doesn’t get better by next year i’ll finally do it.” Well the thought of my very short time left must have done something because a few months later my life turned around for the better. That and the guy I sent money to to provide me with those drugs actually scammed me and I never really had any means of killing myself. For the next couple of years after that I was in the beat shape in my adult life. I was (mentally and emotionally) unstoppable for about a year then the next year was a bit of a battle between my old self and my new self but my new self seem to always persevere. Well here I am today, again, my new self has long since lost the battle. When I got better the idea of suicide turned into something that would absolutely never be an option. No matter how bad I got I would not ever leave my family in the pain of my death. Well these days it seems like it could be an option, an absolute last resort, but an option. I’m still two people: the miserable, broke, lonely fuck Monday-Friday; and then the fun big brother over the weekend. I’m trying to live for my family- for my little brothers but I can’t stop fucking suffering. So i’ll give me some more time. 1,157 days worth. Seems specific but it is somehow significant to me. I’ll give myself that much time to get better. If by that time I am still the miserable fuck that I am right now, there will no longer be any point in going on that way.