Thursday, October 15, 2009

I can't concentrate. I keep trying to read Angela's Ashes and my mind wanders after a couple lines. Also, I can't seem to poop. the side effect of my medication, I'm told.

I should read "Kens Guide To The Bible". Recommended by Rick.

So, Rodney told me some pretty significant news today. He and his new girlfriend are expecting. He had just learned this during visitation and it was obvious in group therapy that his world had been rocked. I am hopeful and anguished for him. I hope it brings him joy and puts him on an upward trajectory. I hope he finds peace in not having to think about himself all of the time and embraces that sense of responsibility for that child. I also feel a sense of pain for him because it further creates a sense of gut wrenching urgency to his already frantic worry.

I am awake at 3 a.m. feeling a bit anxious. Is it possible that I don't recognize what's going on inside me? That, for years, I've woke up with a racing mind and labeled it restlessness? Or depression, a case for the blues? Ya know? What if this Merry Go Round is really a vortex that I'll never get out of without help? If I accept that, it changes the landscape of my world completely.

It might be too late for me. I am 33 with nothing to show for my adult life. I have only what has been provided for me and a few insignificant token remains of a shattered and splintered life. That's a bitter pill to swallow. A big mountain to climb.

It seems logical to me that if the scale of happy and content vs. unhappy and discontent have been tipped to the unhappy side for so long, just stop the fucking madness. Hit the bench kid, ya suck!

I bet with death comes sweet release. To me, a significant relief. The Merry Go Round finally winds down until it goes silent and still. Roll credits, play some sad song, fade to black, everyone get on with there lives.

I don't believe in an afterlife. I think you get one crack at this and there are no rewards or punishments for the way we live our lives. At least not upon death. We have a reward and punishment system while your living, but it's flawed. I'm flawed. Somewhere there is a glitch in the system and it's significant enough to merit terminating the whole darn thing.

What is this bothersome self preservation instinct? And why do others feel the need to keep me alive? Even at great sacrifice? Is that noble? Or is it foolish and meddling? It seems to me that if a person wants to be removed from the gene pool, if they are unsuccessful and defective, we should let them go. It's survival of the fittest and cutting the weak out of the heard.

I always have hated saying "I want to die". It sounds so pretentious. Like a spoiled little girl that was told she can't take butterscotch the pony home from the fair. She folds her arms and sticks out her bottom lip. "I'll just kill myself then. I want to die daddy". Bla bla bla. Boo fucking hoo.

I absolutely feel like I want to die but telling anyone is an abomination. I guess I'm telling my journal. I no longer want to live. I don't have the will to trudge on. My spirit has been broken, what is the point in picking up the pieces again? let the chips fall where they may. I want to die. I'm sorry for the pain it will cause, but I want to die. I am ready to die. I want to die.