Today
Everything I thought I wanted from life, for as long as I’ve been able to think, I can’t have. It’s not that it isn’t being offered to me. The offer’s open, directly downstairs from me right now, in fact. Someone said “You can’t be happy in heaven.” to me recently, probably jokingly, but it’s true. I just can’t have it. After years of being alone, people have finally said that they want to be with me, and all I’ve done since they did that is push them away. I do that to people who have no interest in being romantically involved with me too, but just care about me and want to be my friends. I’ve been told repeatedly that it’s not my decision to make, but I don’t feel like it’s fair of me to be putting people through life with me, and I haven’t got the strength to fight that feeling.
I almost never make it through a single day anymore without thinking about killing myself at least once, despite so many recent examples of how precious life is, and knowing of people who’d probably give anything to have what I’m squandering. Thing is, I can’t just go ahead and do it, either, because I’m even more afraid of the pain it’d take to get there than I am of the pain I’m already in. Alas, the people in this world who are entrusted with caring for people who are as far gone as I am are nothing but pimps, whores, thieves and murderers, and I’m running out of people in my life who aren’t in their thrall. My best friend, my girlfriend, even my own parents…I feel like I will soon be the last person on Earth who isn’t on drugs.
The fact of the matter is, I’d love to be on drugs. It’d be absolutely brilliant if I could just piss away my conscience, and take something that would help me not feel anything. I just about begged for some a little less than 24 hours ago, and got denied, so maybe my conscience is already gone. It doesn’t do me a lot of good, anyway. I’ve spent nearly 9 years away from the bottle (I’ve now been sober longer than I was drunk), and over 6 away from drugs of any real consequence, and if anything, aside from slightly less risk to my physical health, my life has gotten a lot worse. All I wanted was to be a better person than I was and to do the right thing. All trying to be that person has done is hurt people I care about and make me less fun to be with.
I don’t want to hear a damned word about how I haven’t gone through this “program” or that “program”, either. My point in quitting these things, once I got past the initial reason of “fear of death”, was to not have to use anything or anyone as a crutch or replace any one addiction with another. Beyond any vague beliefs that I have about fate and synchronicity and “things happening for a reason”, most of which could probably be traced to scientific rather than spiritual origins anyway, the idea of placing faith in a “higher power” who would do this to all of us or, at the very least, do nothing to prevent us from suffering, is morally reprehensible to me. The discussion begins and ends there from this day forward, and will not be revisited.
The idea that these things happen for scientific reasons…for instance, that a cold, mathematical universe would simply cease to be if my life, either by my hand or by the hands of others, weren’t rendered a shambles over and over again, preventing me from doing anything that could damage the fabric of reality through the ripple effect of anything positive actually happening and being sustainable…that makes a lot more sense than the idea that any of this is part of the plan of some higher power who I should, for some ridiculous reason, entrust my well-being to. Folks, if it gives you comfort to have these thoughts, great, but masturbation gives me a similar, albeit temporary form of comfort, and last I checked, no one’s started laying waste to entire countries or persecuting and subjugating millions of people over masturbation yet. I stress “yet”, and while some of you may laugh, I’m not sure if I’m kidding.
Right now, as in “right this second”, I want a few things from life. I want to be able to live my life the way I choose to without people bothering me. I want to be able to be good to that mythical companion I’ve spent every waking moment since pre-school fantasizing about having around. I don’t want to be in pain anymore. I don’t want to be angry anymore. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to feel like I want to die. I don’t want to end up like my father has.
The worst part about writing all of this is that I don’t feel like I can hit the “Publish” button without hurting and embarrassing people I care about. My voice is, on most days, all I have left, and even that isn’t my own to use without fear of the consequences anymore.
Will you leave if I hit “Publish”? Will you be hurt? Angry? Will you feel betrayed? Will you react/overreact and try to have me hospitalized, as one person hinted at doing a few months back? What’s going to happen to me if I keep telling you all how I feel?
Edit 1: to those of you who are suggesting volunteer work, while it would be a wonderfully noble thing for me to take on even more things that no one’s going to pay me for doing when I’m already poverty-stricken to where I can barely buy food and gas, am summoning dark gods to pay for my ‘net access as pretty much my only means of generating any income or getting any content out there, and am in no shape to hold down regular employment, something tells me that I’ve been noble enough for about a dozen lifetimes in the past couple of years. If anyone wants to do volunteer work to help me, fan-fucking-tastic. Me helping others more than I already do (and I’m not saying that I’m going to stop entirely; people who know me know that I go out of my way even when my help isn’t required or asked for, to an infuriating degree sometimes), that’s not going to fly so much, especially if it involves a regular commitment. Charity has to begin at “Holy shit I’m out of my mind please fucking help me” in this case. Again, thanks for the well-meaning suggestion, but it’s not happening, not for the forseeable future, anyway.