I don’t want to, but I will

I’m missing a key ingredient of suicide: feeling like a burden.

I know I’m useful. I know people need me. I know I’m useful.

These thoughts keep me going, despite this ridiculous sensation of grief. 

I just don’t want to go on, but I’m useful, so I will.

Birthday: Alone

My birthday is tomorrow. Last year, my girlfriend broke up with me on my birthday over text (“I don’t care if it’s your birthday…”). This year, my would-be boyfriend who’s better than anything I’ve ever had before broke it off on the 21st before an amazing set of Halloween events that I really looked forward to. Now I’m set to be alone again for my birthday tomorrow.

My birthday: Unbirth

I don’t want to see my 26th birthday. I have about five hours until my birthday. I really, really would like to end it. I wish I had the gun, but I don’t, so I have another method. This method’s certainly deadly, but it’s uncertain how painful it’ll be, and my body would become toxic to the environment. This method will literally necrify my basal ganglia and cause respiratory failure. It’ll probably feel like drowning in air or having the most severe asthma on the planet. 

I have reasons to stay, so I probably won’t implement this method. But… this is what I’m thinking about.

Abscess teeth. Abscess heart.

I have two abscess teeth that are extremely painful.

I not only have abscess teeth, but an abscess heart. I’m horribly wounded, and I endure agonizing emotional pain in addition to the physical. 

With the abscess teeth, I’m going to have to carve out the souls of two teeth, two nerves, and have two crowns placed on each. Like that, I believe my future relationships will be.

It will be nothing like what I’ve had. It will be a fake simulacra that will have no depth or meaning. 

I wish I could make this the last goodbye. I wish I could just make this end.

Suicide ideation – gun purchase denied

Since my last post, I’ve found someone I really enjoyed and fucked it up by sleeping with his best friend. I’ve since had suicidal ideation so severe that I attempted to buy a gun (the FBI denied my attempt). Shit I’ve done during the early parts of the blog are the likely reason (my parents petitioned me to a mental hospital). So my images of blowing my head off now show me squeezing empty space where a gun would be, nothing happens, and I live.