Nightlog Entry#43: A State of Sorts.
I mean, it's not like anyone actually cares. I mean, yeah, you can say you do, you can pretend you do, but you don't really give a shit if I live or die. Sure, you'll be sad for a day or two, if that, and even then it may just be to keep appearances. I don't know, I can't see the future, I can just sure as shit tell you that no one I know of would actually legitimately care if I just died right now. Maybe my mother, but hell I'd be doing her a favor. We can barely support ourselves as is, it'd be good to get rid of a financial liability like me. I mean, the things she's planned to spend money on over me... Braces, new glasses, scar removal (I've never cut myself, this is from my brother), therapy... Why spend money on me when she should worry about herself?
I used to stave off suicide by thinking of all the people I'd hurt. Now I see that I'd hurt no one if I died.
The only thing keeping me from just killing myself is the fear of death I always have. If I had no qualms about death itself, this would be a suicide note, and then there'd be nothing left of me. But, for better or for worse, I can't go through with even cutting my wrist. How am I supposed to kill myself?
Then, I'm going to read this when I wake up, laugh it all off, and go merrily on my way, writing it off as another case of depression. I can already see that. But, eventually, I'm going to come to the same conclusion I came to tonight, and this is all going to come back in an endless loop.
I've been staring at my computer screen for a good 20 minutes, deciding whether or not to post this. Then I realized, "Who cares?" So, welcome to the place that I now call my mind. Sure hope it gets better soon.