It’s me haha I’m back. But this time I’m in demon form. I creep up on ya like smack from a needle spinal tapped trapped my back quivers from an evil source. Cold blooded so I’m fiending for some heat or warmth. An old shovel dirty it’s evening and I’m still digging holes. I ain’t even ran my course. At first I try to get close to him it’s like I hover over him. Reach down. Creep him out. Crawl up his arm into the nearest hole and take control of him. Get behind his eyes roll em back and leave him with a slack jaw. Make him sleep till he stops breathing in the back stall. Let his heart beat slow. Fuck I hear feet approach. Someone’s coming and I doubt it’s for a funeral. So I’ll wake him up in a hospital cuffed to the bed. Up to the second floor he’s fucked in the head. He starts sweating me. Shaking a cold shoulder and staying up with his pen. I never thought it’d be this hard to take a life from within. I was hot in your veins. How’s you spit me out and kick me out of my place? I’m gonna leave a bomb in there stuck to your brain. When I leave two weeks later you’ll be stuck to a train. Leaving the remains of a mangled man’s hands on the caps of a needle.
Just out of pure curiosity, does anyone on here reside in Illinois? I’d really like to talk with someone who lives relatively close to me.
Im still not dead.
I sure as hell feel like I’m dying.
I fucking wish I would.
Im so cold, I’m shivering, I’ve got goosebumps, these chills are killing me.
Laying here on the floor and I’m sweating bullets.
Sanity says I need to shoot up some heroin.
Repeat that five times in your head.
It doesn’t matter how you shoot your self, just fucking do it.
Junkie scum, junkie scum, fucking coward can’t kill himself.
All he does is run.
What’s the plan you’ve been planning for?
Now that your sick, kicked out of your own house and can’t use every day.
You’re not going to quit, you’re going to use first chance you get.
I always try not to tell my self that.
But when push comes to shove it my arm, that is what we get isn’t it.
Okay let’s face it, I’m fucked, we’re fucked.
By the end of this winter im going to be shooting something.
Whether it’s a gun or some dope.
What ever comes more naturally.
I don’t have much incentive for a better life. I kind of just want to wait to die soon. You know let my self suffer. .. until something comes along and picks me up and subsides my death for a little bit longer, that’s what keeps happening. I don’t really feed my self other people do, I’d probably let my self starve but that takes so long that someone comes along and feeds me. Sometimes when I walk around I hope I get murdered. But then again maybe that’s just me thinking fucked up shit again. Maybe that’s not really me. But I doubt it. I should probably get on some anti depressant shit. That might fix my perspective, that’s what I need, not to change my course of action but to change my perspective first. Then maybe I’d want to do better
But for now that’s not what I want and I know it.
Distractions only work for so long. I think it’ll always be like this. It really always has, I just found ways to mask it. And masking it lets it grow larger but out of sight. So when that mask gets taken off it comes back and hits me even harder than the last time. Soon it’ll start stabbing me when it comes back, eventually it’ll tie a rope around my neck and drag me away.
Junk fucked grunge and grime and became punk in time followed by this dope laced rhyme is blue lips and rolled back eyes with a rope tied tight you might find the right side of life when every body is done crying at your funeral they go back home and do the same thing as you but they don’t understand the point of view you had and why you choose to tie ropes to rocks and throw those hopes over the beam tied real tight so you could kick the chair from under your feet in the same place under that bridge you used to sit and think now that you’re gone they really do carry on the daily lives of ghosts with no hope to show them selves to anybody they’re just like you forgotten and transparent rotting the grand carriage to the afterlife hanging from the rafters like the end couldn’t come faster and after you died they buried the idea of a life that choked so slow and decided to let go.
I think about killing my self often. These thoughts of suicide, I’ve had them for the past five years. As the time has passed, up until now they have only progressed and became more and more frequent. Now, I seriously think about killing my self on average of about three times a day at least. I’ve noticed that through out the years I’ve only gotten more serious about it. As I recall, it began with thoughts of more unrealistic methods of suicide or death. Back then I was basically just toying with the idea of killing my self. Recently, in the past two years, I’ve gotten to the point where it’s not just an idea I’m tossing around my head anymore. I’ve made it clear to my self and I’ve grown comfortable with knowing that these thoughts aren’t going to go away on their own. I understand that in order to stop having such frequent thoughts and urges of suicide, that I “should seek professional/medical help” but I don’t want that(so please don’t suggest such things to me). I already self medicate with heroin (which makes me actually want to keep living) and that isn’t going to last forever, I don’t want it to. So through out the past five years, from then up until now, I’ve made a decision. This decision I’ve made is to kill my self and succeed in doing so on the first attempt and not leave behind a crazy mess of a chaotic reaction from the people it will affect. Every time I’ve tried in the past had been unsuccessful, which was either because I wasn’t too sure about it or because it was an impulsive spur of the moment thing that I hadn’t actually planned on doing in advance. I am completely one hundred percent sure that I don’t want to live anymore and that I do want to, and will follow through with this. So what I plan to do is to let the few people in my life know that this choice of mine has nothing to do with them personally or any impact they may or may not have had on my life, and to not hold it against them selves and feel responsible for my death (as I have seen before in other cases of suicide).
So, solely based on the fact that I want to make sure others are aware that my suicide is not their fault, and that I do not want anyone to feel responsible for, or to feel like they could have “saved” me if they had done something different. My question is: Do you think that this is an appropriate way to assure people that this is what I want and that I do not want anyone feeling like they could have done something different to help me or change the outcome of the situation? Is there something I should add to clarify how I want them to feel(or not feel)?
I am NOT looking to see comments saying things around the lines of, “suicide is not an appropriate way to assuring people of anything” “why do you care how people feel after you’re dead” “suicide is not the answer” “you should seek help” or anything going against my question or feelings on this subject.
Though suggestions on how to go about getting my point across to people would be appreciated. (By “getting my point across” I’m not referring to my suicide, I’m referring to how I want to make sure that no one feels responsible or feels like they could have helped in any way to change this.)
I once had a shirt that said “if you’re looking for a sign not to commit suicide this is it” and it honestly made me really happy to have. It cheered me up a lot, some how making me feel better about life. But it was stolen from me and it crushed me and made me really sad and depressed. Pathetic huh?
Does any one use heroin and feel like they finally don’t want to kill them self? I do. When I get clean from it and I’m sober, I want to die again. What’s the point of me getting sober if I still want to die? Why not just keep using heroin and running from my suicidal and self destructive tendencies? At least that way I’m still alive for the selfish fucks that insist I don’t kill my self. But they’re not happy enough that I’m still alive, they don’t want me on heroin. But they don’t understand, the heroin preserves my life. I’m alive because I use heroin. With out it, I’d have killed my self already.