Love you Inside-Out?
Where do I even begin… Should I begin at the darkest depths of a singular created mindset that was always bent on self-destruction? Would that be a good place to start? The ICU I was placed in after an overdose on a cocktail of medications would also be a good place to begin. The birds are chirping and the children are crying, tomorrow comes and life carries itself onward. Let’s rewind to the sweet smell of grandmother’s cookies, where all my first world problematic accompaniments should be able to relate to- if not, then too bad, cookies suck without ice cream anyway.
Grandmother’s Cookies
If you’ve read this far into it you should know you will not find my grandmother’s recipe, it lies secret within her own passing. Even then you should consider where you do stand in life wanting to eat a dead person’s cookies anyway. This is not about the cookies, but the memories a sense can have on a person, the way we remember our birthdays with sweet sugary morsels of cakes and also the way a cocaine addict will always remembers the numbing of their throat from snorting a line. I’ll never forget neither. It is the same way we perceive things within our existence. We prattle among the waters with our masks and robes to hide what we delve deep inside. We stare into this reflection of our own feet and see different images. A good example is something like cigarettes, it can be a cancer stick, a reprieve, or simply a fashion statement.
These images all molded from our own existentialism, for me I do not see a belt buckle as something to hold up your pants, I look at it as something I attempted suicide with. I cried and fumbled my hands about like a new born child trying my best to break free of the thing that I was using to well… break free. The next day, the birds chirped, the children cried, and the elderly were out watering their flowers. Not to say that the world does not care, it does. Your world cares, your family, your friends, your bosses and co-workers. We all leave a niche in this life on each other’s trees, no matter how small or menial, it does exist. We exist as long as we allow ourselves to exist. I do not by any means believe existing is existing, you can exist physically and be fractured soul, vice versa. To exist I mean is to be whole, with both body and spirit. You might be wondering why I have changed my story from overdosing to hanging myself. I have a simple answer; simply because I attempted suicide twice. It was a Monday night, four days ago. 10:30pm I was in a random bathroom chugging pills and water from the facet, fuck the unsanitary setting, I was on a mission. I had coaxed everyone into a lie that I would be fine, but I made the plan work anyway, I wake up in the ICU and three days later I am here writing this, with a very distant mind and an even more distant self of compassion. I’ve realized there is no big sign that is going to say change your life, before you commit suicide, the act of, is the sign. A shattering effect that even when attempted can change the mindset of everyone around you and you yourself. I am not saying to live a miserable life. I am saying to live life until it’s not miserable.
The reason I write this is not to help anyone, I’ve had enough of that living my entirely short lived outwitted existence. Yet, on the off chance this does help you then even better, it’s a byproduct of an expansive outburst of my own creation.
