The following essay I wrote months ago, while I was pretty drunk. I am not sure if you all have been hip to the suicide theme this month, being suicide prevention month and all, but this one highlights some of my suicidal thinking when I am drinking.
I am sure that this last month worth of reading might have been difficult for you, especially if you care for me, but these essays are not written the day I post them, rarely every the week I write them, and often I don’t post them for months. I have showcased a collection of my more suicidal writings here due to the month. So no one needs to worry, I am actually doing rather well. Look forward to the less dense material once the calendar turns to October.
Here we go:
It is amazing how depressed I get when I am drunk.
Tonight I was just sitting in the basement editing a podcast, drinking rum and cokes all by myself and I wound up drunk and here I am.
As I was listening to the podcast I was reading some article about guns and my neighbor mentioned owning a gun and all I have been able to think about is a gun. I would buy a gun and everyone would tell me it is a bad idea. Sam’s family would worry about her and Jocelyn. My family would worry about Jocelyn.
So what I would do is buy the gun and take some classes on how to shoot it and get my concealed permit and then after I feel confident in myself I would lock it away for months. Why? So everyone would stop thinking about it. They would stop worrying about Sam or Jocelyn. They would forget I even bought the thing.
And then one day Sam would come home from work and see my brains splattered across the wall and floor. And that would be that.
No more of this fucking bullshit. I hate this life. There is nothing for me here.
All I wanted in life was to be good at something. I wanted to give you guys a reason to respect me.
It is a hard truth for some people to swallow. Some people do not want to admit that I am going to kill myself. I tell my wife this all the time to prepare her for the day she finds me. I don’t want her to find me, but who else is going to?
It often amazes me how rare suicide is. Are people really that happy with their life? They know there is a way out, right? This isn’t permanent.
I look very favorably upon suicide. I think it is the greatest gift we have, knowing we can end ourselves. There is not the same power in any other act.
I’m not sure why these thoughts seem to overpower me when I have been drinking. Two of the most serious suicidal episodes in my life were under the influence of alcohol. I stopped drinking for awhile, but then I got the itch again. It doesn’t really matter. I’ll be dead before Christmas anyway, even without the booze.
It is simply becoming that time.
Any longer and I start to risk too much and put Sam and Jocelyn in a dangerous position. I don’t even really want to kill myself right now, so much as I know I will want to in the future and the timing is right now.
I cannot express to you how it feels to want to kill yourself. Not because it is so devastatingly bad, but because it is rather pleasant. I don’t think you would understand the serenity that comes along with knowing you soon won’t be around to care.
I am scared.
I am not scared of dying, because I am certain there is nothing to fear on the other side.
But I am scared of the pain. I do not want to hurt. I hurt enough. My pain is real and you all laughed at me because of it. You will never understand me. And I don’t want you to.
I was listening to a podcast this morning where the podcaster was asked about following your dreams verses making the responsible decision. He said that following your dreams will never lead to failure. It will always lead to something better. I gave up on my dream to make a responsible choice the very instant my dream became hard. What am I to make of that?
I don’t think I am fit for living. I don’t think I should’ve ever been alive.
I think that god made a mistake sending me here.
My wife is awake and probably wondering why I’m not in bed. My daughter is asleep and knows nothing of this. And I wish she wouldn’t ever.