Let's imagine the end

If it were only that easy. Swallow a bottle of pills, pass out for who knows how long. Maybe a few hours, maybe forever.

Why someone would try to use ending their life as a way of getting attention, I will never know. I guess it works. Everyone is all of a sudden concerned. But not for the right reasons. Not because they care. But because they’re afraid that they were part of the equation, part of the reason that you decided that now is the time to end everything. Or they’re afraid you’ll try again.

I’ll admit that I’ve thought about it a few times. Never seriously, of course, but I’ve thought of it nonetheless. Would people cry? Would people come to my funeral? Would they wish that they had known me, been there for me more? But how would you ever find out if you just died? You wouldn’t. That’s why you take the more passive, less obstructive way of committing suicide. You take some pills. You see how many people show (feign) concern. If you really wanted to die, you would’ve used a gun.

All I’m saying is: it’s all very stupid. If you want to kill yourself, then don’t halfass it. If you want to get people’s attention, do something that’s worth their attention. If they don’t pay you attention, then you’re probably seeking it from the wrong person. Internalize the fact and move on.

/end rant

This room is full of stuff. Your stuff. Your stuff that you no longer need/want. You left them here. They remind me of you. I can’t throw them out because they are not mine. I can’t give them back because we’ll never speak again. I don’t know what to do with all this stuff. Stuff that reminds me of you. Stuff that is here to stay. You’re here to stay.

May 26, 2009

“Can you please stop doing this?” He pleaded while holding my wrists in his hands. “You’re really hurting me.”

I didn’t remember much after that. All I remember was noticing that the blood dripping from where his hands were was extra dark that day. Much like the barbecue sauce that he likes to use to dip his chicken nuggets. I closed my eyes and let him pick me up from the bathtub. His chest was warm against my ice cold skin. Like a blizzard under the blazing sun.

I heal quickly. I guess I’m just lucky that I’m not a hemophiliac. Or unlucky, in my case. I usually get what I want, just never this.

It’s so easy to hurt yourself, but not so easy to end yourself. Someone always interferes. It’s weird when you hold on to nothing but they still choose to hold on to you. What is there to hold on to?

He likes to show me that he cares by crying about it. I’m not sure if I care so much if I don’t ever listen. It’s just something that I do. One vein at a time. Simply beautiful. It’s almost like a tattoo, but a lot more organic. He just doesn’t view beauty the same way I do. Naturally.

Time to use the bathroom.