Huh? Funny. Not.
As of today I had a taste of that one step of ‘that-edge-of-the-cliff-stairwell’.
Just a taste, I’m still not sure if I’m ready to accept the To be/feel Disregarded step.
I’m not making sense. Because my mind is quite jumble as to what’s happening. I can feel the despair eating my insecurities.
My fingers are part of my emotion not my mind. I keep on typing, typing.
My God, I think I’m getting mad. As in the ‘nutcase’ kind.
This is to fast. Everything’s happening too fast. I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready.
That bottle is just there, a few steps away. 14 paces to be exact.
It is still sealed, I think it contains more than a hundred.
Could I take a hundred?
Breathe.
I need to get away for a while. Clear my mind. I can resist this. I want to resist this.
Breathe…
Breathe…
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For a year I’ve calmed myself about suicide with quirky imagery. Most often I think of someone who’s shy or maybe they won 2nd place sneaking off stage. Now I look and notice people sneaking away from most every situation in everyday life.
“Could I take a hundred?” was the phrase that caught my eye as I tapped the PgDn key on my laptop. It’s an unusual question. “Could I take one?” sounds right for someone who’s reaching into a candy jar. A hundred of anything is quite a few. Not enough to buy a house or a car, but maybe it’s poker chips.
The dead outnumber the living by at least 1000 to 1, so we’ll be joining the majority. What choice do we have really? Maybe I’ll botch my next suicide attempt and get hit by a bus on the walk home from the booby hatch. My life’s a litany comical mistakes and so full of surprises, I never had control (not even now) I was bullshitting.