Deadline

Deadline. It’s a funny word, is it not?  Almost two days have passed since March 18th, 2013: my deadline. The day when I told myself that something had to change, something great had to take place, or I’d end it all. It’s strange to me now: all that time, I had told myself I would do this, and then when the day finally came… I hoped out. Not chickened out, not choked out, hoped out. My mind is afflicted and warped to always believe that things could get better, even when the events out my life have proven that to be painfully false more often than not. And why? Why do I keep telling myself no, not today, not today, wait until tomorrow, tomorrow will be better, tomorrow will be different. How many tomorrows do I have to sit through? How many next weeks are going to pass me by? How many times will I shift my deadline back; how many times will I push back the date of my demise? I just want it all to stop. I don’t want to keep holding on to the frivolous hope that things will get better because they’re making no move in that direction. And the more I hope, the more I hurt. The more life takes, the more I break. When can I just give up? When will my heart just stop, no beats no pulse, no blood, just a straight line on a static screen, a straight line and a beep going on and on and on. One line. Meaning that I’m finally finished. Dead. How far off is my deadline.