At this point, the glass isn’t half empty or half full, the glass is shattered and the pieces are embedded deep in my flesh. I have final “insurance” if you will, I’m just waiting for the right time to use it. I’ve practiced over and over. It’s not a matter of if I choose to make my exit, but when. And oddly enough, having a surefire “insurance” policy helps me through the bad moments, the mere knowledge that I can reliably end it when I choose to do so, when the time comes, is almost enough to bring me peace. I’m playing a sick game […]
I don’t know what gives. I put the gun to my head and get a rush of peace and euphoria that I want to ride out before I pull the trigger.. Then it stops and I go again, yet there’s that urge to ride that wave of temporary peace… It’s the best feeling. The cold metal against my skin, the weight in my hand, the rush… In the moments near death I feel the most alive… And I’m addicted to it. Knowing with 3 lbs of pressure it could all end. It brings a smile to my face in a way nothing else does.