Idk why I'm bothering to post anything. I'm tired.
No decent interpersonal connections, was isolated for like 5 years as a kid and ended up functionally mute for years after. Kinda left it's mark in that I still avoid people like the plague, the goal of any interaction is to gtfo as quickly as possible.
Family is all dead. In fact everyone I've ever cared about at any point in my life is dead. Tired of everyone dying. Just tired.
I'd be an addict but street drugs don't do well with me not even pot and hangovers from drinking kick my ass, so I don't even get a crutch.
I swear the only positive emotion I can feel anymore is relief or some kind of empathetic vicarious sense of fulfillment but it all seems so fucking hollow. I just want to sleep. I can't sleep nearly enough. Sleeping forever would suite me best.
Can't do anything about my problems, they're locked in, believe me I've tried from every angle to find a way of beating this system but I'm just done.
So many greedy, amoral idiots who hate more than they think. Wish I could have died earlier, understanding the extent of the rot a little less, but does it matter? How could it. Everything is relative. If I won the lottery I'd be in the same boat as I am now. If the world was a great place, I'd still want to die. I really don't see how living could ever be a serious option for me under any circumstances, the damage was done, my life was over beforeit ever could have began.
Why am I here? I haven't tried to kill myself since I was 18. Far too long. When I decided to die, I wasn't ready for so long, it wasn't until I woke up on the right side of the bed, an exceedingly rare occasion to have the motivation and the calm to go through with it. But even the best laid plans get fucked.
For a while I lived just to get a window of opportunity to have enough privacy to die, but somewhere along the way I was convinced that living may have been an option. I was naive. That foolish notion was erased from my head and what remains of my ever eroding heart before long.
I've got a12ga shot gun. Quick and painless. However I don't think I'm quite comfortable with it. I'm not sure why. I know I could manage to hang myself from experience, but also how risky that is, even when well prepared. I seem stuck on the idea of doing an exit hood, painless, clean, relaxing, but expensive and complicated.
I want to cry so badly. The tears well up. But I'm incapable of crying for myself anymore. Not quite dead yet. Certainly not alive by any means. Not for so long. Just empty. Just sad. Just tired. Just done.
No decent interpersonal connections, was isolated for like 5 years as a kid and ended up functionally mute for years after. Kinda left it's mark in that I still avoid people like the plague, the goal of any interaction is to gtfo as quickly as possible.
Family is all dead. In fact everyone I've ever cared about at any point in my life is dead. Tired of everyone dying. Just tired.
I'd be an addict but street drugs don't do well with me not even pot and hangovers from drinking kick my ass, so I don't even get a crutch.
I swear the only positive emotion I can feel anymore is relief or some kind of empathetic vicarious sense of fulfillment but it all seems so fucking hollow. I just want to sleep. I can't sleep nearly enough. Sleeping forever would suite me best.
Can't do anything about my problems, they're locked in, believe me I've tried from every angle to find a way of beating this system but I'm just done.
So many greedy, amoral idiots who hate more than they think. Wish I could have died earlier, understanding the extent of the rot a little less, but does it matter? How could it. Everything is relative. If I won the lottery I'd be in the same boat as I am now. If the world was a great place, I'd still want to die. I really don't see how living could ever be a serious option for me under any circumstances, the damage was done, my life was over beforeit ever could have began.
Why am I here? I haven't tried to kill myself since I was 18. Far too long. When I decided to die, I wasn't ready for so long, it wasn't until I woke up on the right side of the bed, an exceedingly rare occasion to have the motivation and the calm to go through with it. But even the best laid plans get fucked.
For a while I lived just to get a window of opportunity to have enough privacy to die, but somewhere along the way I was convinced that living may have been an option. I was naive. That foolish notion was erased from my head and what remains of my ever eroding heart before long.
I've got a12ga shot gun. Quick and painless. However I don't think I'm quite comfortable with it. I'm not sure why. I know I could manage to hang myself from experience, but also how risky that is, even when well prepared. I seem stuck on the idea of doing an exit hood, painless, clean, relaxing, but expensive and complicated.
I want to cry so badly. The tears well up. But I'm incapable of crying for myself anymore. Not quite dead yet. Certainly not alive by any means. Not for so long. Just empty. Just sad. Just tired. Just done.
