..is to abandon delusion. It’s probably ok. We just don’t know what’s next. No frame of reference for what may exist outside one’s life, mainly driven and maintained by delusion. Not trying to sound dour, on the contrary..Maybe there’s some kind of bravery, there in the willingness to examine hard, those delusions, which keep pretty much every human being going
Why cling to this grim slimy reality? Ha! Why force the prison on up out of bed and to some series of unremarkable, unrewarding tasks just in order to afford something moderately less bleak than homelessness? I don’t know. I know the answer is supposed to be in the connections with others. It’s so bleary though, at times. Keep going, I guess. But my god..Sobering up, is just, awful.
The problem about all of this.. Just the the way we categorize and organize things.. Put this current event into this interpretation.. Is there any real solution? I don’t know. It still happens. There’s things to work on to minimize, but it still rears. Guess, we should just see it for what it is. It’s the way we process. Everyone makes errors, it’s an inevitable thing. But we could perhaps try to be a little easier on ourselves. We should. To be so harsh on one’s self, is really the unfair thing.
Just do it already? Everyone’s on their earbuds and cellphones anyways, who to look up and really care.. Maybe something to take a pic of, the gruesome thing, upload it to Insta and hope for some likes. What does it matter anyways if all I can end up doing is just make one absolutely devastating mistake after another..As am busy digging out from the last here comes the new. Forever reborn in dumbfounded how it happens. Sigh, deep sigh.. Well, one more. We’ll see how deep its consequences tomorrow. We’ll keep going, sure.. Some foolish thing, face whatever will come how beat up already am. Just keep going I guess
I read the news today..that wasn’t very smart.
I guess that I can still afford Curry, ok, one more day.
..maybe 350, how much does a couple more hours really matter though? It was an interesting thing, and now over.. Not like I’ve tried, but the last 9 nights has seen to that. Last night’s was a half bottle of Jack and couple flutes of cheap Champaign. I celebrated, watching reruns of the Larry Sanders show and half-heartedly alphabetizing my record collection. Pretty spectacular evening. Happy New Year!
It just feels like too much has happened. Too many things gone wrong, and here I am left with the fallout of all of it. For a time I’d wake up with enthusiasm to fight it, figure I’d do this or that and things will get better, try to improve the situation, but where it’s led me is just so utterly depressing. Details don’t really matter, I feel it’s more once you get stuck in this frame of mind you just feel stuck. I don’t know. Just found out a good friend of mine from back in the day killed herself. She was so beautiful, troubled for sure, but seemed to have gotten a handle on things. My father killed himself, my cousin killed himself. One of my fish jumped out of the tank, apparently it was all too much for him too. REst in Peace “Bagels”.
It was roughly about this time last year that that darkness swooped in and took over.
It’s happened before, but in time would usually pass, this time, it’s remained.
Every day is a struggle, I’ve tried so many things to shake it..
Girls, drinking, exercise, working, everything just a temporary distraction, just clicking off the seconds, trying to make it through another day.
Finding this site has helped, a place to vent, to read other peoples experiences and feel a certain kinship, to know am not alone, dealing with a life that once promised so much potential, now, just a daily chore to remain,hoping for better days.
Am on medications now, have appointments with a counselor. Still have 2 women in my life that want to be with me, but don’t match up to the one I really felt life had a reason worth living for.
It all seems so pathetic,like,dude, why can’t you just snap out of it?
Who cares if you’re losing your hair, don’t really have family, have lost opportunities to be stable and happy, life goes on, right, and all that mess about what you survive makes you stronger.
The pep-talks just don’t really seem to work anymore.
I distance myself from my friends not wanting them to see this side of me, but it’s been the dominant side for a year now.
I don’t know, it’s strange how life can so easily slip into such a mess. I both cherish and am haunted by the memories of when life was more carefree.
Just numb these days I suppose, hanging on, not sure exactly what for, but hanging on.
Thank you to everyone posting their stories and offering support for one another, it does help, it does offer some comfort and hope. I just hope peace can find us all, in same capacity, at some time.
Another day without her.
Another day with the painful memories of the past.
Another day I need to move my stuff out. 7 days left here at this place that saw everything fall apart.
Another day still don’t know where going to next.
3 cigarettes and memories of how things once were, where things were going, between sips of black coffee, trying to wrap my head around how things came to this. How I became this person, unrecognizable from photos taken only 10 months before.
The fear it’ll never get better, and only possibly worse.
Homeless at 34, abandoned hope for a brighter future, the logical conclusion, what’s the point in going any further if this is all you’ll know?
The person I was feels so distant now, the one who’d smile, who attracted her in the first place, who attracted a lot of people, lost now. Buried beneath the onset of this dark deconstruction.
The slippery slope, leading me to the psych ward, on medications, talking to myself, hair falling out, no true family, so much potential, decimated to dust swiftly blowing away.
What’s even the point of moving out, besides not leaving a burden for someone else?
How I wish I could go back and do otherwise, never move here, but it’s too late, the damage done.
The worst spot have ever found myself in, and that’s after so many worst spots before.
I’m known as that guy, who if it weren’t for bad luck, he’d have no luck at all.
People still care, but I’m so broken, so desperate for release from my daily inner narrative. The one who can’t stop seeing how good things once were, how awful they’ve become.
I’m sorry everyone, this is not uplifting in the least, I know we’re all struggling here, and someone’s pessimistic rant helps little.
I’m just trying to find within myself the strength and determination to press on. It’s just so very hard and oppressive at this particular juncture. I hope you are all having better days. My love to you all.
It was horrible, beyond any measure I could have anticipated.. I guess I should have known, but clearly didn’t. I was treated less than human, my basic rights suddenly stripped, walking around in hospital-issued scrubs in a daze, trapped, awaiting doctor’s orders for release.
3 days locked in the confinement of the behavioral wing of the hospital, constantly supervised, your every movement documented, got to go outside once, for some 15 minutes. It was so horrible, all I could think was “get me out of here”, and now that I am out, hardly do I feel any better, but surely for the worse.
Everything feels meaningless.
As part of the condition for my release the gun was taken from my premises, and I guess that is a good thing, but now that friend’s know just how suicidal I am, it makes me feel more trapped in this mental state than ever before.
I don’t know if there’s any true point to this posting, just that it happened, and I wish I had held off the decision to admit myself, hand’t broken down so fully at my counseling session to lead my counselor to suggest I admit myself. It’s not his fault, he meant for the best, but the experience has led things to the worse.
The woman I love doesn’t want to be around me for a while, and I don’t blame her, the woman who wants me to love her makes me feel guilty for being distant. I fucked everything up so royally. I’m still alive though, but feel more dead than ever.
A word of advice for anyone considering it, be sure it’s your absolute last option, it wasn’t for me and I did it anyways, what a mistake. But it’s done and I can’t take it back.
I hope you all are well.
Had a gun to my head for several hours this morning, safety off, squeezing the trigger, the hammer pulling back, then letting off. Another night hardly any sleep.
Gotta move out of this shit dump in 19 days, no plan where to go next, fully overwhelmed, so much shit to move out, and so laying here in bed typing instead. Just at my breaking point.
Aimless, no plans.
I turned to the girl had over the other night and saw for the first time in the morning light a nasty cold sore planted firmly to the corner of her lip.
Great, may have an outbreak in a couple days as a souvenir for that awful evening, choosing her as a sure thing over biding my time for the girl I actually love.
These are my fuck-ups, but there’s just too many of them piled up.
I have the money rubber-banded in stacks of $5k, and another $6k in hundreds wadded in a black sock, all half-hazardly stuffed in a shoe-box, a note taped to the top with instructions to deliver it to her. A note inside, simple, direct, “_________, I love you. I’m sorry”.
I fantasize leaving it at her door often.
Today the fantasy’s stronger than ever.
Things didn’t used to be like this.
I used to fear having the gun in the house, an irrational concern would get up and sleep walk to it in the middle of the night, follow suit with my father and cousin’s example. Now I sleep with it.
Life is so fucked, my hope draining for any turn around in the future.
So I smoke, drink coffee, lurk and write here, pretend everything’s fine around my roommate or when the occasional friend contacts me, but things are not fine. Things are scary, but in another way not.
Just a speck of dust floating along watching it all unravel,
a speck of dust perhaps with a cold sore in a couple days.
Not looking for sympathy here, what I did is what I did. I should have just been there for her as a friend, shouldn’t have given into her subtle advances, taking it to the next stage I knew I’d surely regret. I should have recognized her vulnerability and kept respectable distance with compassion, but I didn’t..
I allowed the night to progress, one beer, 2 beer, 3 beer, talking closer and closer at the arcade bar, her warming up to my unfurling pinball skills, as laughable as that may seem, close contact is close contact.
Suddenly the air is charged. The familiarity of our past, the chemistry between us re-igniting, and the comfort in that place when everything else around is unsure, unstable, falling apart. Thoughts of consequences abandon for that eagerness to belong for an evening.
But I know she’s not the one, I knew before when the same thing happened and derailed everything with the one I do feel is the one.
We finish the chicken tenders and our last beer and she comes over. It’s already decided, there’s no turning back now, and for some reason I think nothing of it, not till the next morning.
When I look over and realize again, as always, she’s not the one. The one I do love, already at work, me always unsure where we are, but know if she knew I was even in contact with the other that there’d be no chance again, and worse than that, severe hurt.
This doesn’t come back into focus till later in the day, till I sheepishly say I can’t be in a relationship, for I still have feelings for her, I still love her, however doubt we’ll ever be together again, I’m still stuck on her.
This breaks my friend’s heart, and I feel terrible causing that hurt, and I drop her off and it’s a sad goodbye.
A goodbye that could have been good had it been the night before, but now damaged, irrevocably so..
And while feeling bad about that, who calls but the one I do love, suggesting she’d like to come over.
Cruel fate I dealt to myself, no way could I oblige, invite her over to the same room, entwine on the same bed the other had departed only hours before. The guilt and shame of it all tearing me apart, all of it my fault, knowing if I were to mention any of it, how forever things between us would be broken.
It’s not cheating, we’re not together, but it’d still break her heart, and so I decline, as much as that hurts, cause all I want is to be back with her again, the one I love, but I fucked it all up.
I routinely fuck it all up, didn’t used to.
I used to have it all together, steadfast and certain of what’s right, denying advances from other girls even when we were in a fuzzy noncommittal zone.
I long for those days, for the relative simplicity of it, just her and I together.
Life has just become such a mess, and in that mess, clinging to whatever suitable offer may present itself for the intimacy of an evening, however falling so short and hollow from the one who really matters.
I just keep thinking there’s no longer a chance for us, and then suddenly there is, only too late. Doomed to be honest and tell her who I’ve been with while we were apart, doomed to guilt and shame for not.
But I did this to myself.
why couldn’t you just say goodbye at the bar?
To feel the weight in my hand, the cold of its steel against my lips, playing with the trigger, but never quite enough to pull.
It’s laying here in bed with me, I’ve been laying in bed most all day, I lay in bed most all days, till eventually get up, maybe buy a burrito or go for a run.
I think about her, and how her brother used the gun, how her father used the gun, how my father used the gun.
Too many guns.
I think of all the other hers, the ones that almost were, the most recent hers, but still it all comes back to one.
Just a week ago it was good, and now fallen apart again. We’re always coming together and falling apart.
Maybe it has something to do with the guns, that we both know what it’s like. But I fear this is the last time, not really fear, know.
The distance too far a divide to bridge once again.
No amount of going out for sushi, bring back that smile, that look in her eyes.
No more her coming over, find something completely inane on Netflix and pass out in the first 20 minutes, her involuntary twitching keeping me up through the night, waking up a royal grump, but making her breakfast anyway.
It’s what you do for someone you love.
You look past what annoys and revel in what’s deeper.
We’ve revelled on and off for 2 years now, but I feel like she’s through.
I’ll still always love her, miss her, and want what’s best for her.
And so instead of her, I hold the gun.
A sorry substitute,
hard polymer handle in my hand instead of hers.
But she never really liked holding hands anyways.
It’s almost 8 years to the day now when I got the call, that mom needed to come over to tell me something, and seated in the worn-out dingy couch on the porch, dark outside, the words spilling from her into me, something that could not be taken back, something final, a new reality shocked into me.
I remember somehow taking it so well, the determination to be strong overcoming any flirtation with falling apart or to pieces about it. It was his decision, and that’s what he did, he is no longer in pain, there’s nothing that can be done about it and we’ll be ok.
The bullets can’t go back in the gun, the gin back in the bottle, the note back to a blank page, my stepmother’s vision, the blood splattered to the wall.
Somehow I was able to manage this, mostly alone, as an only child and mother’s mental state succumbing to early-onset alzheimers.
But I was ok.
Sure I had my routine moments of scream/crying out loud, outbursts as a sort of release valve, but I’d carry on.
For 7 years I felt I had it mostly under control, then I met someone who’s father also committed suicide, and it’s not to say it’s her fault, but it’s like there was something in finally letting go this need to carry this burden, that this other person understood everything, and I understand her, and it sort of opens up this flood gate.
We fall in love, but it’s tumultuous and damaging, up and down, up and down, we’re together, we’re not together, we’re talking, we’re not talking, but we always love each other, no matter how much one hurts the other..
And just throughout our ups and downs, it steadily leads me to this dark dark place, one I’ve never known before, one that I feel for the first time can truly empathize with my father’s and cousin’s decision.
I hate that it’s come to this, after 7 years of being relatively stable, this delayed falling apart…I don’t know, think may hike the Pacific Crest Trail come April.
Hope you are all well
Loved. Whatever it is that brought you here, we are all suffering in our own way, but please know you are loved. Even if just from a stranger, whose face you will never see, an automated pixel design next to its username. We all came here for some reason, and we are all here for each other. You are not alone.
I wake up today feeling much more like my old self, but just dumb-founded where that self finds, er, itself. How did we wind up here? It really makes no sense to me now. How could I not have just followed the path I was on before? It’s like I couldn’t stand the idea of stability, and so just constantly interrupted and disrupted any and everything that at any time was going smooth.
Had a house, had a girl, somewhat had a job, but still couldn’t find satisfaction. Maybe it was in part still coming to terms with past and present demons, Dad killing himself, mom dying of alzheimers and the impression of feeling unwanted by the actions of my stepdad, and all this other stuff.
I really lost myself, have been lost for 9 months now, and just acted in accordance to what at the time seemed like the best measures to take, but man, I look around now and see where am at in comparison and it’s just awful.
I’m happy to feel much more like my old self, no longer obsessing on suicide and know that it will take small steps to climb out of this.
Just wish didn’t have to go through that lost period, adding so many more issues/obstacles now to overcome.