Hey stranger!

I wanna tell you something that will make you smile. I wanna make a change. I want you to feel better. I want you to be happy. But the truth is that I don’t know what to do to make you feel any kind of better. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. 

I don’t even know what to do to make me feel better. I’ve been sad, sick, tired and hopeless for too long. Maybe this is the time to let go. The time to stop trying. The time to stop being afraid of what death will do to the ones I leave behind, and what it’ll do to me. Maybe I just need to take the leap … again.

Stranger, and not-so-much-a-stranger-anymore, I want to tell you something that will make you smile. But I’m not sure I can. But I will tell you this: I appreciate your comment. Even if I take weeks to come back to you, I will always respond as long as I’m alive. And every comment, and word of encouragement means a lot to me. To hear that my words is read at all … Yeah, that’s kind of nice. Never give up in your ability to make a change in someone else’s life. Believe in the power of your words, and your caring.

And Stranger, one more thing, you’re valuable, worth it, wonderful. Believe it. Reach.

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Peel off my skin and make me feel your love

I feel so desperately bad. So desperately alone. So desperately lonely. It’s not a steady pulsating pain, it’s gasping for air and screaming. I’M ALL ALONE! I feel like no matter what words I use I can never convey what I’m feeling. I’m just so hopeless.

I need someone to help me, to hold me, to heal me. But that doesn’t work now does it? No, because my body, my mind and my heart rejects every ray of light, and turns away all the open arms. I’m wondering if I’m broken! I think I’m broken. And you can’t hear me choking on all of this, on this night, on this life. Fuck. It hurts so bad!

I think the only way for me to feel close to someone, connected to the world, would be if they sliced me open and reached in and grabbed my heart. “Hush, darling, you’re not alone.” Maybe not even then.

I’m gonna say it, what we dread saying because we don’t wanna offend, and because we don’t wanna minimize someone else’s pain: I wish I had been raped and beaten instead. I would have known it all would soon be over, and I would’ve had a safe haven somewhere else and I wouldn’t question whether or not what was done to me was wrong. Instead I’ve lived for two decades believing I deserved it all.

(Please don’t take this the wrong way. I’m sure someone would rather have what I’ve had instead. But fact is we don’t know how we would’ve reacted to the other, but it’s still easy to think “if only”. And many end up where I am because of rape and abuse too, I guess the best thing would be to have happy things instead. But yeah, whatever, I think we all think like that once in a while. We image having the ailments we don’t have as better than the one we do have.)

And he doesn’t even know he ruined my life.

It hurts. So. Bad.

The relief

It’s there when you put the blade to your skin. As you drag it through the skin cells, and create a wound. As the blood spills. But then it’s gone. Within the blink of an eye, it’s gone. 

It’s there when you throw up your dinner. As you’re hurling in your bathroom. As tears gather in your eyes. But then it’s gone.You catch your breath, brush your teeth, and it’s gone. 

It’s there when you tell him to do whatever he pleases with you. As you take your clothes off, and lie down to be used. As you compromise yourself and allow someone to treat you as if you’re worthless, because that’s what you are. But then it’s gone. He gets his release and then he caresses your chin as if you’re valuable, like it was all a game. He kisses your forehead and tells you you’re beautiful, and it’s gone.

It’s there when he throws the punch. As you trace your fingers along your jaw, to your lips, and you lift the hand in front of you, and you see there’s blood on it. As you turn the other cheek and get hit again. As the dizziness embraces you and it’s hard to stand on your feet. But then it’s gone. He gasps and is by your side in a stride. He apologizes under his breath and begs for forgiveness, and it’s gone.

It’s there when you stub a cigarette on your hip. As you watch your bruises in the mirror. As your empty nail beds brush against your covers. But then it’s gone. It only lasts a moment, and then the moment’s gone.

Relief, sweet relief, it won’t really stay, until I’m dead. 

This loneliness knows no comfort

Shouldn’t the feeling of despair be less painful since it’s been here so many times before? Shouldn’t we have become acquainted and familiar and close by now and shouldn’t that make it easier? No, I swear: despair is what it always is and always will be: bottomless dread and pain. There’s no such thing as being used to it. I mean, yeah! It’s been here a thousand times before but it’s still as painful as the first time. This loneliness doesn’t get more bearable just because I know it.

I hate that! I absolutely hate that. Shouldn’t there be comfort in knowing what you’re up against? Shouldn’t there be relief in the familiarity, and support in the fact that you’ve been here before? No! The despair is as terrible as ever.

 I wonder if there will ever be a time where my life is free from this kind of suffering. I wonder if I’ll have weeks were I actually believe my life exists with a future. I wonder if I can ever forget to think about my death. I wonder if I’ll ever truly live.

Application for voluntary death

Suppose there was a thing like that, what would the criteria be? Who would process the application forms? What would their day be like? “Hello honey! Oh, nothing out of the ordinary, I approved 14 inquiries, and some of them darling were quite troubling, if I may say so. Luckily most of them applied for sudden death, so they don’t need to suffer knowing when it’ll happen. Actually we’re in contact with a new hit man, he seems pretty darn funny! I hope I’ll get to work with him planning a few of the terminations!” …

I objectively want to die

I’ve thought about it long and hard. For many years, actually. I see that my decision has been influenced by my subjectivity to the matter, of course it has! But now, I think I have come to the point where I can make an objective choice. Or, I don’t just think, I know. I am making an objective choice, to die. It’s based on facts not feelings. 

  • My life is not worth living, because I have no real feelings, they are all some sort of bullshit: when I’m feeling happy, I don’t feel happy, I think and know happy. When I love someone, I don’t feel love towards them, I think it. 
  • I am a narcissistic psychopath (this doesn’t mean that every narcissistic psychopath should die, or that they can’t have a good life, it just means that I can’t have a good life as a narcissistic psychopath): the meaning in life for me lies in making a difference, and caring about others, as I cannot feel for others, that only leaves me with making a difference, but I cannot make a difference when the only thing I’m occupied with is me, myself and I. 
  • I am ugly (OK, I’m gonna be real honest, I don’t know where that came from, but it stays, it sounds objective to me that that should be a fact for me to die).
  • I have no value.
  • The people I’m surrounded by in my everyday life will be better off without me: my therapist will have room for a new patient, that will benefit both my therapist and the new patient; my family will have one less gift to get for Christmas; my colleagues don’t have to look at me during their work-day and they’ll have more work to do, this will make them feel more at peace and like they have more of a purpose; etc. etc. 

So, as you can see, this choice is not driven by subjective feelings, and whims. It’s thought-through and logical, reasonable, and objective.