FIRST ATTEMPT: CHAPTER 1

I

Saying hello to the goodbyes.SUICIDE.   

… Suicide is now the third leading cause of death in the United States among persons under the age of 24.  it is estimated that no less than 300,000 young people will attempt to kill themselves this year.  More than 6000 will succeed.

That was written in 1993. 

I found myself dancing on the edge of an easy suicidal escape.  I was flirting with that fine line between sanity and sheer madness.  I think I must have been confused about the importance of the air I breathe, and the sun that beats down of my face with great heat.  I forgot the beauty of temptation and risk.  I misread his lines, and therefore I was sent back into shock and depressive thoughts.  So I sat there, typing away, attempting to work, with tears streaming down my cheeks.  But they didn’t notice, they were all sucked into their own monitors, absorbed in their own thoughts- most of which I’ll never have a chance to have.  I didn’t work the way I usually do; I didn’t make the normal quota.  But, I sure as hell did try.  It’s hard to focus on the important things when you’re busy focusing on the important things.   All I could think about was his words, my anger, the promises, and different ways of departing.  One stood vividly in my mind, but I knew that great pain would come out of it.  I knew it wouldn’t be swift and easy.  I knew I’d suffer, with plenty of time to regret it.  Besides it had already been attempted by a friend of mine.  And, I don’t like to be a copy. 

 

I’m not a ditto sheet in a drawer.

            I don’t ever remember being that serious and absorbed into thoughts like those before.  Never actually thought I’d be willing to leave.  But, I was serious, and I might’ve done it, if she hadn’t of talked to me.  If she hadn’t of given me a few pieces of hope.  I honestly think I was ready to leave.  One huge, permanent vacation, a view of the greener grass on the other side, a dance with the devil, yeah I was ready.  I knew what the thank you letter would say too:

 Thank you for your support through all of this.  Thank you for the good times.  I shall remember you all, and hopefully we will cross paths again.  Good luck in life, Goodbye. 

Short, sweet and subtle.  No scary words, no reason to cry.  I added a splash of hope, because I know that that’s what I would want if I had to have a letter.  See, people get carried away.  How many times do we have to say goodbye, and since when does it need to be personalized?  Generalizations do the trick, they really do.  That way, nobody is left out.  Nothing is confused or misconstrued.  I would add one PS to it though, one massacre of a PS:

 I love him. 

            Now, that doesn’t mean that I was leaving solely because he ran from his fears.  Although, I won’t deny that it had a lot to do with it.  That makes me weak, so very weak.  But, emotion gets in the way of many things, and I won’t be ashamed of the nature God has given me.  I won’t fear my stupidity, because I know I’m honest. 

  

The truth is… lies keep us breathing.

 

            So, anyways, I was crying.  I thought of all those I wouldn’t get to say goodbye to, and I realized I didn’t care about half of them anyways.  But, there were some that I would care about, that I did worry about.  Some of them were very random.  I don’t hang out with them, or show love for them, but some people that I have been in contact with are very important to me, and they might’ve never known.  I don’t know if they ever will, even though I’m still here.  I’ll keep it quiet.  It’s not important, and some of them might already know.  Maybe it would be best to keep it under wraps anyways, if they knew they were important to me then I’d have to live up to it.  I’d have to be there for them, I’d have to show that they were important, and I’m not up for the responsibility.  I’ve just recently realized I can’t even be responsible for myself sometimes.   Then again, who can? 

           

It scares me that I was so ready to leave.  I was so content with the idea of no return home.  I’m starting to scare myself. 

 

I’m lost in lies and can’t find my way out- but that’s a whole other story.

 

I’m starting to think it’s almost normal to think about suicide, well, what is normal anyways?  If I were normal, would that mean I was abnormal? 

 

Normality.  I’d rather not participate.

 

            I wonder if I’m mentally ill because I thought about killing myself, because I though of the procedure and the repercussions of my actions. 

 

Because, I honestly wanted to leave.

 

What’s wrong with searching for a quick escape?  So, it shows my in ability to solve problems.  It shows my pathetic attitude towards life.  But, it’s real, and I’m real. 

 

I use to be a cutter.  I use to slice and dice so to speak.  I’m not really sure why I did it now.  I don’t remember my motives; I don’t understand the scars.  But I hate the scars.  I hate them very much.  I look at them and want to cry.  I can remember each incision.  The worst of the many was a horrible day.  He made me mad again- although I won’t blame the purple slash on him.  But I cried as I cut, and then I bled for what seemed like forever.  I held my arm in a towel as my dad talked to me, he didn’t notice.  He doesn’t notice much of anything anyways. 

 

Is he even a father? 

I doubt it. 

   

But when the razor grazes your skin, you’re not thinking death; you’re thinking sweet revenge.  Because out of all honesty, it’s not really relieving.  The true, unscripted thoughts of a real life cutter (recovering from the stupidity of self mutilation):

 

‘Damn life can’t get any worse”

-Find the razor, find it quick

“Don’t do it, don’t dice”

-Put it on your skin, you know it’s right

“Dammit I didn’t feel that”

-Holy shit you’re fucking bleeding on the carpet

“What are they going to think”?

-Shit man, that’s gunna leave a mark

“FUCK IT STINGS!”

-Why did you do that?

“Dammit that hurts so bad now”

-Why are you still crying?

“Where the hell did I put the Neosporin”?

-Is it because you’re still sad?

“I wonder if they make a band aid big enough”

-Or because you arm hurts?

  

Lost.

 

Lost in the hope of relief.

 

When we cut, are we hoping somebody will find it, and ask about it? 

 

I think so.

 

I’ll be honest.

 

I know so.

 

We’re searching for a savior.

We’re searching for safety.

Even if it is from ourselves.

 

Save me from myself; before I do something stupid.

 

Then I found love.  What am I to say about that?  I found it.  But I can’t do anything about it.  So there it will sit, unused and dusty on the corner table in the lounge of despair. 

 

What a waste.

 

But it was worth what it was when it was worth something at all.

 

            Why do we all fight so hard to be so damn complex and original.  Original is nonexistent in our world of creativity.  Face the facts; you’re the same as the next cute guy walking through the mall of reality.  We’ll never stand out, but never fit in.  We’ll never be what we’re taught to be.  Ourselves. 

 

But I’ll strive to make a mark, only because I’m avoiding the truth, I will never be remembered.  My gravestone will wither and crumble, and my name will be lost in the dirt of history.  Maybe, I’m okay with that.  No, I’m not. 

 

            I wonder if he’ll come back. 

 

I wonder about other people now.

Wonder what it’d be like to give in.

Give into the temptation.

 

                                                                        But I don’t want to.

            Love keeps me focused on the past.

 

And I’m haunted.

 

I’d like to sleep tonight.  Wait Wait.  You can’t.  Insomnia, have you forgotten you’re a victim of a broken heart?  Sleep doesn’t exist in your pretty world… pretty shitty world. 

 

Don’t be bitter, don’t be sad.

 

Let it go.  You know you’ll have to tomorrow anyways.  You know he’s still lying.  You know you’re no more than the others.  Nothing better, nothing brighter.  You don’t shine bright enough to keep him.  Somebody said you’re not good enough.  He must’ve heard them.  So much for love.

 

Love is the fallacy that killed the human spirit.

 

This bounces all over the place.  Are you ready?  Are you ready to get lost in what is ‘me’?  I’m not ready.  Lord knows I’m not ready.  But hell, I’ve been stuck in here for eighteen years.  Will somebody please get me out? 

 

I’m stuck in a glass box looking at a world that’ll never understand.

Not because they can’t.

Because they’re ignorant.

And their lives are naturally harder and more important.

Let’s all be selfish and cry for

ourselves.

Let’s cry because we won’t get our way.

Let’s cry because life isn’t fair.

LIFE ISN’T FAIR.

 

 

So shut the fuck up and smile, because you still get the breathe the polluted air.  You still get to drown in your own waste.  Smile you little bitch, smile.  You’re heart is still beating, after ever damn ingested hamburger, and every strawberry shake.  Let’s all smile, because we wake up to follow rules.

I’m not pessimistic.

 

I have faith.

Faith in tomorrow.

Faith that the sun will rise.

I will breathe.

I have faith in a love that was misplaced.

Because you always find what you’re looking for when you’ve stopped looking for it.

 

Did you lose your keys?

Start looking for your wallet.

And your keys will be there on the dinner table.

Plain as day.

Now where the fuck is that wallet?

 

There may not be a damn thing that makes sense.  So take what you will.  Read what you won’t.  and remember, you won’t remember me, you won’t remember this, or that.  But you will die just like me.  And nobody will remember you either. 

 

Grow up.

Grow in.

Grow into reality.

We’ve been waiting for you.

 

You afraid to die?

 

YES      NO

(circle one)

 

You believe in God?

 

YES      NO

(circle one)

 

You pray for safety?

 

YES      NO

(circle one)

 

Are you insured?

 

YES    

(circle one)

 

Then you’re scared.

  

Is this what love does to people?  Breaks them down.  How easy is it, to find love?

 The single persons survey: -How to find your soul mate on the back of a cereal box- 

Name:

Age:

Birth date:

SSN:

Ethnicity:

Height:

Eye Color:

Weight:

Body type:

 

Favorite color:

Favorite song:

Favorite place to fuck:

Favorite food:

Favorite side of the bed:

Do you shower daily?:

 

Yearly income:

Insurance carrier:

Place of Employment:

Length of time at present place of employment:

Number of employer:

 

Life’s goals:

Biggest mistake you ever made:

Fantasy:

Number of ex-spouses:

Kids?

How many:

Criminal offences:

Outstanding tickets:

Drugs:

Drink:

Smoke:

 

Bust size:

Length of dick:

Width of dick:

Sex drive:

  SUBMIT  

We’re all searching for love.  They’re all searching.

So I guess I’ll let him search too.

I’m content.

 

I’m 18 years old, and I don’t know much.

But I know us.

  He doesn’t, he’s not ready.  And I braced myself this last time.  I didn’t cry this last time.  I braced myself for the impact of rejection. 

I wonder what it’s like to get it all.

Wonder how it feels to be so lucky.

Wonder if it’s luck at all.

Luck… exists?

 

(I’d like to believe he loves me too much to be with me. 

But I wish he needed me enough to stay.)

  

So what has this been about?  Suicide and lost loves.  Maybe now you see that importance in my mind, death and a life without.  And I’ll get over both, because I’m already over one.  Not that one.

 

Moving on.

                                                                                                           

  

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