Dead Inside

So bad I can feel it in my eyes. It literally feels as if one look into my eyes and everyone should be able to tell just how Awful I am feeling. But no one will be able to. No one ever does.

Damn I used to write rather better than this *sighs*

One Of These Days...

I tend to have suicidal thoughts on a regular/semi-regular basis. Comes with being Borderline, I suppose. And sometimes (much of the time) I so badly just don't want to be alive...
(this is nothing new to this blog but... *shrug*)

The other day I was taking the dog out and before I put the leash on him I wrapped it around my neck. Nothing serious because at the very least I still had to take him out. The feeling of 'rightness' and calm and such that I experienced when I did it, though, was unexpected and a little unsettling. Especially since I have realized that I seem to be more serious about suicide when a third option is added to the normal pair that pass through my mind on a regular basis. That third option, incidentally, is hanging.

And today (OK not just today but today I think maybe I'm more likely) I am thinking seriously about overdosing on some 'left over' meds that I have. Not enough to kill myself, just enough to do SOMETHING, you know..? To have some sort of reaction. I am someone who self injures anyway (mostly I cut) but that doesn't feel like what I need/want (not sure which it is so much, it feels like a need, I think, but obviously it is not).

*shakes head* I should probably call the crisis line but if I do that they might put me in the hospital and then I wouldn't have my boys (pets) and I especially need the cat. Not having him cuddled up to me at night, especially if I am on a psych ward, would not help me feel better, to say the least.

I might be OK. I might stay safe. I'm just not sure. I'm safe... until I'm not...

Too Busy

Everyone is too busy.

Too busy with the mentally retarded (retarded: the root of which is 'retard' from the Latin retardare, from re- + tardus (slow), for the uneducated who read that as nothing more than a politically incorrect slam). Too busy with the schizophrenics and the schizoids. Too busy with the drug addicts. They're too busy trying not to make you feel as if there is actually something wrong with you (even if maybe there is) or simply too busy going by the books, following the guidelines simply so they can get you out and stop wasting money on you.

Too busy to notice that maybe there is something wrong with you. You may not be mentally retarded or schizophrenic or schizoid . You may not be a drug addict. But there is something wrong, none the less. At the very least there is something wrong.

But they're too busy. Too busy to see. Too busy to care.

Too busy to watch you die..?

Maybe then they will not be too busy.

But then it is too late...

As In Biblical Times...

I curse the day on which I was born. Why did You make me?! Was it only for this hell, this torture?!?! You didn't ask me, I was given no choice. Had you come to me and said 'Listen I'm thinking of creating this person and I was wondering if you were interested. You should know, though, that she's going to experience X, Y, Z' I would have looked at You and said 'Count me out, thanks!' I'm so tired of feeling this way. So tired of thinking these thoughts, having these feelings, these longings. I actually long for my own end. I pray nightly to you that you would erase me from this world, from memory. And each morning I wake, a clear indication of you 'No' answer.

I am angry at you, God. The word 'hate' keeps going through my mind but we both know what I think about that and so we know it is not true. But I am angry (perhaps a little mad as well, heh). I am frustrated. I think it was Paul who was thankful for the thorn in his side. But I am not thankful for mine. It's not like I have just the one. This one, though, is the one that grieves me the most. That creates in me the longing for my own end.

That brings thoughts of ways and means.