quietpill
I get so jealous of euthanized dogs.
- Nov 27, 2024
- 60
I feel like I'm being dragged through my life on the end of a noose, waiting to find the right tree to hang it up on.
My friends don't stick around to watch because I push them away or worse, disappoint them. I don't even know how to begin breaching the real depth of despair I feel with my closest friends, who are doing so good they almost seem miffed by the idea that I'm struggling. Or who are understandably preoccupied with their own responsibilities, issues and shortcoming that I'd like to think we could bond over but can't – both because I'm too inadequate to help them, they won't communicate, and/or already have much more capable friends, lovers, and family members around to uplift them.
Not to say I don't at all, but my despair is a lot to put on the shoulders of the singular family member I couch crash with now. Even their generosity isn't enough to keep my own life from slipping further away from my grasp.
I just haven't felt this pathetic, helpless, and small since I was a child. I feel the only solid way to CTB for me in my current situation would be with a knife, down the street. The people who've tried have done all they can, there'a nothing left without money I don't and probably won't ever have.
So, there's no love without burden, and no love that wants it for me. Nor do I for them at this point. Truthfully, I'd have it no other way, better I spare the people around me from the worst, most intimate parts of myself if I can, right?
I keep thinking I can die quietly on the inside but it's much different to keep facing the torture of it every single day. I don't know how to do it but I have no choice in the matter? I suppose I could throw myself in front of a semi-truck, but I'd hate to have it politicized, or to scar a random driver.
The problem, again, is I keep realizing I have nothing to offer. I'm a failed artist, a failed writer, a horribly failed attempt at adulthood. What is left? It feels like I just lie to myself everyday telling myself I'm working towards some intangible better future that my efforts never actually materialize. Of course, I know it's an internal issue. Something wrong with my cogs in the machine. Rust, dislocation, fracture, it doesn't matter when it can't be fixed. I pray at night some knife-wielding repairman will gut me out so I can be replaced with useful, grateful parts.
I suppose for now I'll keep taking nyquil as much as I can. If all I can do is lay down, it might be the best option?
If this makes no sense, I apologize, it was not written with AI input even if it might sound badly written. I apologize.
My friends don't stick around to watch because I push them away or worse, disappoint them. I don't even know how to begin breaching the real depth of despair I feel with my closest friends, who are doing so good they almost seem miffed by the idea that I'm struggling. Or who are understandably preoccupied with their own responsibilities, issues and shortcoming that I'd like to think we could bond over but can't – both because I'm too inadequate to help them, they won't communicate, and/or already have much more capable friends, lovers, and family members around to uplift them.
Not to say I don't at all, but my despair is a lot to put on the shoulders of the singular family member I couch crash with now. Even their generosity isn't enough to keep my own life from slipping further away from my grasp.
I just haven't felt this pathetic, helpless, and small since I was a child. I feel the only solid way to CTB for me in my current situation would be with a knife, down the street. The people who've tried have done all they can, there'a nothing left without money I don't and probably won't ever have.
So, there's no love without burden, and no love that wants it for me. Nor do I for them at this point. Truthfully, I'd have it no other way, better I spare the people around me from the worst, most intimate parts of myself if I can, right?
I keep thinking I can die quietly on the inside but it's much different to keep facing the torture of it every single day. I don't know how to do it but I have no choice in the matter? I suppose I could throw myself in front of a semi-truck, but I'd hate to have it politicized, or to scar a random driver.
The problem, again, is I keep realizing I have nothing to offer. I'm a failed artist, a failed writer, a horribly failed attempt at adulthood. What is left? It feels like I just lie to myself everyday telling myself I'm working towards some intangible better future that my efforts never actually materialize. Of course, I know it's an internal issue. Something wrong with my cogs in the machine. Rust, dislocation, fracture, it doesn't matter when it can't be fixed. I pray at night some knife-wielding repairman will gut me out so I can be replaced with useful, grateful parts.
I suppose for now I'll keep taking nyquil as much as I can. If all I can do is lay down, it might be the best option?
If this makes no sense, I apologize, it was not written with AI input even if it might sound badly written. I apologize.
