mindless self indulgence (not like the band)
the point is, i'm not suicidal. if anyone ever asked, that is what i would say and it would be true.
but i do spend a not-small amount of time looking at my wrists and veins and imagining how painful it would be to do it. about the kind of wristbands you would have to wear to cover up the scars. about how blessed nonexistence sounds kind of nice sometimes.
maybe i'm just lying to myself, like i do with everything else.
but really, i wouldn't do it unless i could make it look like an accident, or murder, or something. i would never leave those best beloved to berate themselves over how they never knew, had no idea, where did we go wrong, what are the signs we missed. that's just unnecessarily cruel.
i used to think that the idea of guilting people into not (ie, think of how crappy the people you leave behind will feel) would be the sort of thing that would just have to work. but i've realized that really, it's kind of the least effective thing ever. who cares what those people think/will feel? you will have that blessed nonexistence, (or that wretched wretched hyper-existences known as hell, depending on your religious affiliation) and really, compared to what you are feeling in order to contemplate actual suicide, the grief of your family and friends is a non-issue.
the point is, i mostly feel like i'm hanging on by the bleeding scraps of what is left of my fingernails and the headphones in my ears are all that is tethering my soul to my body and i don't really want to die so much as not be living this life that i'm stuck in hipdeep, mired with no end in sight, except i made an end, i rescued myself, and now i just have to wait long enough for the generated momentum to carry me to shore and it may well prove to be the hardest thing i've ever done.
operation distraction: go. how many concerts do you think i can go to before i go broke?
but i do spend a not-small amount of time looking at my wrists and veins and imagining how painful it would be to do it. about the kind of wristbands you would have to wear to cover up the scars. about how blessed nonexistence sounds kind of nice sometimes.
maybe i'm just lying to myself, like i do with everything else.
but really, i wouldn't do it unless i could make it look like an accident, or murder, or something. i would never leave those best beloved to berate themselves over how they never knew, had no idea, where did we go wrong, what are the signs we missed. that's just unnecessarily cruel.
i used to think that the idea of guilting people into not (ie, think of how crappy the people you leave behind will feel) would be the sort of thing that would just have to work. but i've realized that really, it's kind of the least effective thing ever. who cares what those people think/will feel? you will have that blessed nonexistence, (or that wretched wretched hyper-existences known as hell, depending on your religious affiliation) and really, compared to what you are feeling in order to contemplate actual suicide, the grief of your family and friends is a non-issue.
the point is, i mostly feel like i'm hanging on by the bleeding scraps of what is left of my fingernails and the headphones in my ears are all that is tethering my soul to my body and i don't really want to die so much as not be living this life that i'm stuck in hipdeep, mired with no end in sight, except i made an end, i rescued myself, and now i just have to wait long enough for the generated momentum to carry me to shore and it may well prove to be the hardest thing i've ever done.
operation distraction: go. how many concerts do you think i can go to before i go broke?
posted by NAME @ 10:51 PM
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