the whiskey,and beer, the cigarettes, chewing tobacco, and assortment of other drugs, and the gun, a smith and wesson .40 cal. These were my best friends, only just recently have a given up on the tobacco. but sometimes the barrel of that gun, the soft, half moon shape of the trigger grouping of the pistol i named hope, still calls out my name. to think about it, i've been sober now, from alcohol for four weeks. from tobacco, for almost a two months, maybe a little less, i've lost count of the days since our last conversation. but ever other day, or at least, it seems it is every other day, hope calls to me, wishing to end the pain, the cycle and truth of my misery. but then the thought of you, the sound of your voice, the laugh of the little voice in the background, the pictures that flash in my head of my family and friends crying, though i doubt they would, stops me. once again today, hope called out to me, although this time she won out. i pulled that trigger, and to my dismay, hope didnt yell or scream out to me in praise for her successful release of my ill felt heart and aching miserable, loathful self, she just whispered, not yet. theres more for you to do. just after she said that, without blinking, i brought hope down, pulling the cold steel of her barrel from my temple, dropped her to my lap and asked her why? why couldnt you do this for me, why couldnt you make me happy? finally now that i puilled the trigger, i asked, no i begged you to help me!!! you've been calling my name so loudly! and now you decide you cannot accomplish what you've been asking for? what you've been waiting so paitiently for? and she whispered again to me, because there are things that you need to do. you need to accomplish this last mission, and i cannot be the one to end it. not now, not this early, not later, when your old and can barely move.
the truth is that i begged her today. the truth is that i never told you how depressed daily that i really am. how often the thought passes my mind of how much better this would all be without me in it. one less blow to deal, one less mouth to feed. the truth is....i HATE this life. But, the truth is also that, i LOVE my life when your in it.
