Waves

I hate myself today. I don't need a reason, I just do. I've had many days where I wish I had pulled the trigger, but today was the first time I've ever considered walking out into traffic. I even had the scenario in my head: sometime in the middle of the night, while everyone else slept, I'd wake to go to the bathroom. I'd get dressed, sneak out the front door for a walk, and head up 9^th Street. It's the annual Emancipation Proclamation Celebration, so there's quite a good bit of traffic, and I know semi trucks come through here often. All it takes is a late night truck coming down the 9^th Street hill quicker than the speed limit, and one false move on my own part. *SQUISH* And then I'd be nothing but a splatter on the truck's grill, a spot in the pavement, and no more trouble to anyone else ever again.

Of course I'd be trouble. When I'm here I'm trouble, when I die I'll still be trouble. I have no purpose other than to cause shit for people. You know that animal shit those homeless kids with no shoes inevitably step in? That's me.

I might still go for that walk. Maybe it would clear my head out. I'm told I think too much. That wouldn't be so bad if I ever did anything with it... Obviously I don't feel like myself.

The waves of pain have returned. It feels less like a stroke and more like I'm just a pathetic wimp trying to hold back crying. TWICE, so far, writing this out I've felt tears start to come, but they get to the point where it hurts for me to have them form and then they stop. So I just get waves of pain and nothing else... Like I deserve? Maybe.

I don't know why I'm so hard on myself. No, I can't say that.

I wish I knew how to be hard on myself. I wish I knew how to do more than scold myself for fucking up. I get angry at myself for failing, and then I make no attempt to rectify my actions, instead preferring to just give up. It's all I seem to be good at; I give up and I run away. I have no problem solving skills, no stress relieving skills, no real... anything.

THREE times.

Maybe if I grind my teeth enough they'll all disintegrate. Then I can be toothless too. 26 and toothless. Instead of just 26 with holes in my teeth everywhere.

Maybe I can disappear into a sinkhole collapse. Just be walking along and *GONE* and by the time help arrives I've already begun to rot. I don't expect it to be painless.

I don't expect to get away with a painless death. I expect my life to end suddenly and violently. Without rhyme or reason. I expect to be taken in a tornado or horrifically murdered. I expect to be the subject of a thousand different horror stories, a hundred different scary movies.

No, not really. I expect to attempt suicide and fail that too. All I'm good at is failing.