During the week I work, I workout, I’m busy doing stuff. I have no time to let my mind interfere. The weekends are the worst. I get lonely and depressed. Yesterday I was such a mess. I feel like nothing satiates me. I loathe weekends. I do nothing except ponder why I exist and wait for each moment to pass so I can go to sleep. But today I feel better. Distractions are amazing. To not be able to think… It’s wonderful.
Sometimes I just stare at my wrists when I get like this and wonder what it would be like to plunge a knife through my artery and veins. When the pain eats away at me and crying doesn’t even help. Crying used to help. I felt ashamed the other night when I just cried myself to sleep and woke up and realized that I didn’t take my dog out, that I left my kitchen a mess, that I slept in my clothes. I never do that. I have never cried myself to sleep either.
I finally realized that I’m depressed; and death enters my mind like a lost cat tiptoeing in my mind, giving a small purr. I’ve never been good at life. It feels like a job. Even when I was young, I wished for death. It’s strange hoping to die when you’re 10 years old.
I read Anne Sexton’s poetry all of the time, like they’re my words:
“Even then I have nothing against life. I know well the grass blades you mention, the furniture you have placed under the sun. But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why […]
Older Posts