I’ve been suicidal for months now. I think the only reason I haven’t gone through with it yet is some stubborn part of me hanging on to that last bit of hope, even though my situation is beyond fixing. That and I still need to write a letter worth reading when I’m gone, so many people rush through their suicide notes. It’s literally the last thing people are going to remember you by, at least make a rough draft first. I’ll be damned if I’m going to have the last thing I ever write be some paltry drivel that’s as disappointing as Trump’s border wall.
My daily diet would starve an Ethiopian child, but I’m getting more sleep than a tweaker on a comedown. The only problem is, I can’t sleep without dipping into the now dwindling supply of sleeping pills I bought to kill myself with. That shit wasn’t easy, either, I had to go to 5 different stores to buy enough to do the job. They purposely sell them in tiny bottles that only contain 8-16 pills now, as if inconvenience will somehow deter someone who has committed to the decision of killing themselves.
I’m basically surviving on whiskey, sleeping pills and hate at this point. There’s really no point in being awake, other than dragging myself to work, so I pass the day by sleeping through it. My morning routine consists of sitting on the toilet and debating whether I should have a cup of coffee or kill myself. My inability to construct a future for myself has made me the architect of post-Michaelism.
It’s not all bad though, I suppose. You know, being in my state of mind is liberating in a sense. Living strictly day to day, I don’t have to care about repercussions at work if I cuss out a rude customer, because I probably won’t be around long enough to worry about getting fired. I won’t be afraid to say “fuck you, pussy, just fucking do it already” if I get mugged. Maybe I’ll be the next Sky King, and you can immortalize me through memes.
If I want to go somewhere on my bucket list, I don’t wait for vacation days, I just call in dead and go. I get in fights for the sake of fighting, I fuck for the sake of fucking. Maybe I’ll get in my car and go watch the sun set over the Rockies, maybe I’ll do it on acid…who knows what the day has in store for me. I can be a smartass all day, and just do what I want, because what’s the worst that could happen? If it all goes to shit, I always have suicide to fall back on. It’s like a super power. In fact, I’d say I’m more alive than the people actually trying to go on living their lives.