Now ready

I was really surprised such a site existed where we can discuss wanting death and not be put away.

I’ve already been there, wrongfully.

I’m a writer, it’s the only thing I’m good at and it’s gotten me into trouble. Back along, I was expelled from school because I blogged in a dark lamenting sort of fashion.
I didn’t mean anything by it, but the school had enough. They didn’t want to be liable.
It was actually two ex friends who gave me away. They destroyed my life like I was an ant.
They expelled me because they thought I would kill students or myself.
They washed their hands of me.

I was sent to a psychiatric hospital and this was the beginning of the end.
I was happy up until the school stepped in, now I was in with people with real problems.

But of all the good things that came of it, I met someone.
Not in the hospital, but online. Someone who enjoyed my writing.
Someone like me.
She became my best friend and my only reason to live.

I love her more than anything.
If we were older, she’d be my wife, in a perfect world.

But it never works like that.
She’s been dragged around too much.
She’s colder than the stone that makes up the mountains.

Beautiful but blackened.
She can’t love anyone.
Not even her lowly best friend.

And she constantly hurts me with her words, much worse than any cutting I can imagine.
I long so much to hold her close, caress her back, kiss her sweet lips.
But I can’t, regardless of our similarities. I can’t let her go and I can’t have her.
I can’t hurt her.
I can’t let her know that she hurts me.
I can’t let her go.

I have nothing going for me but her and my car.
I won’t graduate with my class.
I won’t go to college in the fall.
I can’t find a job.
My mother kicked me out of the house because I siphoned money from her AIM to survive, so I drift between friends and father.

And so I’m back to that feeling, where I’m waiting for anything.
Any reason. At the drop of a hat, I’ll be gone.

Pills.
Shotgun.
Ramming my car into a tree.
Sitting in the closed garage with the engine running.
Pulling a knife during a routine traffic stop.

I just so very tired. I don’t have a future. I don’t want one.
I can’t go on.

It would have been so sweet too, if only I hadn’t been such a writer.

In spite of it all, I can’t shed a single tear.

Not for myself. Not for anyone.

Nothing works.

I’m just waiting for that extra push.

I pray it comes soon.