Morning came and went, passing, crawling. Vodka, sip, sip. Norco crack, split in half. Small scissors scratch, scratch, in the stalls I push more plush from my wrists. Dark, caved-in eyes, darting from the light fixtures on the ceiling, desperately answering back to chimerical chatter.
Then, the high is gone, the vodka wears off. I’m empty, emptier, emptiest.
Well, not so empty. It’s not so bad. Although the thought I want to kill myself flew by more than once against the wallpaper of my corneas.
She took me to my favorite store ever, World Market. They have everything. Anyways, I broke my own heart. I was looking around at items, things I really wanted, little things like tea. And I had the thought, “What’s the point of acquiring more physical items? It just means more clean up for people when I die. It’ll just take up space.” Then, I stepped back for a second because I had scared myself so badly. I know I have this sick, perverted love lust for suicide, but I think it really shook me up inside actually planning and thinking about the aftermath of my death.
So, I bought some Hello Panda chocolate just to hold onto life a little bit longer. I don’t really want to die…I just really, really don’t want to feel this pain anymore. I don’t want to be the cause for anyone’s heartbreak.
Now, I’m going to purge because I feel sick with anxiety. I’m going to lay in bed, and I’m going to try to not think about being stupid and taking another hydrocodone.
Thanks for reading through my morose soliloquies. I know it’s a bummer. This depressive episode has been a rocky, sticky one to say the least.
And thanks for everyone that has been supporting me, commenting and such. It helps. Just knowing someone is reading this and cares enough to comment back helps my heart. It really does!