gulping saltwater


“Not everyone wears their scars on their skin.”
― Isla J. Bick

“So I go to the ocean to say goodbye…
We could have been so glorious.”
― Charlotte Eriksson

Somewhere on the side of HWY 71 lies my Saint Dymphna necklace that I have worn for almost 20 years, and my engagement ring – worn for six months maybe.

I cannot put into words what possessed me to throw out my last few valued possessions, nor will I attempt any such undertaking. What is there to say?

Ever feel that you are just drowning. Most people drown very silently. No one even sees them slip under the water. By the time their absence is noticed it is usually too late to save them.

This is how I feel.

Melodramatic? Maybe. Self-absorbed? Obviously.

All the good I have ever done has been done. There is nothing in this world to look forward to except death, and release from breathing.

In.

Out.

Done.

There is no one I can go to with these thoughts or feelings. Not him. He is terrified of my relaxed laissez-faire attitude towards suicide.

Ah. My good friend. She understands. She waits for me.

“Did you really want to die?”
“No one commits suicide because they want to die.”
“Then why do they do it?”
“Because they want to stop the pain.”
― Tiffanie DeBartolo, How to Kill a Rock Star

“Some people are just not meant to be in this world. It’s just too much for them.”
― Phoebe Stone, The Boy on Cinnamon Street

Those happy things: marriage, a new baby. These things will never happen. How can they? The man that says he wants to marry me is the same man whose ring I tossed to the highway after a night of endless panic.

We never discuss marriage unless I bring it up – and it always seems to exasperate him. He likes waiting. To me waiting is drowning.

My brain has been put on a shelf for repairs. Some days are okay and some. Some I just feel so alone and so burdened down with responsibility I cannot breathe.

Another baby? Ha!

I am 35 years old now. I am no better off financially that when I was 25. Another baby.

I can’t even properly care for the two that survived me. I need to buy my boys new clothes. Clean their rooms. Clean this disgusting home that once held so many hopes but now just makes me tired and bitter.

I have nothing more to say for now. No one listens. They just want me to get up, go to work, provide. So I will, till it kills me.

About me

I am great.
This entry was posted in Death, Filth, Nonsense, Stress, Suicide, The Only Shit That Means Anything and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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