Thursday, January 29, 2009

The post I shouldn't make.

Out of money, no motivation to go out and do much of anything, I found a five dollar bill in my jeans pocket a couple of nights ago. It was cold outside. Colder than I thought it was. Shivering, the pain in my feet skyrocketing, I went to the 24-hour pharmacy to see if there was anything I could get to last me a few days.

When I left, the light for me to cross the intersection was turning green to red. I'd have to wait. To protect myself from the cold breeze, I huddled behind the large sign outside the pharmacy.

At that hour, traffic has thinned tremendously, but was still existent. I watched as people accelerated to make the light, as they had no idea when it would turn red on them. As they sped by, the unbidden thought came to me. A few well-times steps, a fifty mile per hour collision, and this miserable farce I call a life is over. I can call it quits. All I need to do is wait for the right moment.

Well, obviously I didn't do it. The thought came and went, as it usually does when I'm on my meds. But while the suicidal plan vanished, I wondered why I'm trying so hard to accomplish anything at all.

My family doesn't view me as a burden. They see me as a fool who is wasting his time, or "faking" my disability.

I think of my friends, who say they will do something, make the promise to do it, and then I find myself chasing them to keep their promises.

I think of Mush, the friend I've had since age 14, and wonder why he's made no effort to call me since I called to beg him to help me get to my "dying" brother (who miraculously lived).

I think of my friend Julie, who is facing a fight with her live-in boyfriend for custody of his son, and how I can do nothing to help them.

I think of each month, and how I can never make my finances last no matter how frugal I become.

I think of the slum I live in, and how my neighbors have absolutely no respect for other people.

I think of the meds I'm now taking for a year, and wonder at the odds of me having become addicted to prescription painkillers.

I think of the foolishness on my other blog, and wonder if my message will ever get out there; a message that loses focus every day.

I think of the family I'll never get to have, since I'm far from a catch for any woman.

I'm getting tired again. Tired of existing. Tired of being unable to live.

If I were truly suicidal, I wouldn't write this. You'd never know what was going on in my troubled mind. But sometimes I wish I could simply surrender and be done with the nonsense that my life represents.

2 comments:

Dallas-Dakota said...

Bor, you have me.
Your the best, as far as the internet can go.
I realize we haven't talked much lately but, when you feel that way. Please think about what I'd feel, what gitp feel.
This may be just the silly webs, but it and the people on gitp mean something to me, and I don't care if that makes me pathetic, but I care.
*hugs*

Rob Meadows said...

D-D...If I was going to harm myself, I would say nothing at all. It is far better for me to come and vent the feelings than hold them inside and dwell on them. I know from experience that to do that would be to come closer to committing a foolish act. So try not to worry too much.