Let me preface this by saying that i am not going to harm myself. I have had thoughts along those lines, the same as any introspective person has had before. I've always viewed suicide academically and define the validity of preforming said act based on the effects that will come after said event.
For example, if I killed myself I would reap unspeakable sadness on my mother and father, who throughout all my life have never done me any wrong. It's a good and main reason why I do not just off myself, because the people who would be hurt are the ones least deserving.
They are amazing people who have always given complete support to me through all my nefarious en devours. Without getting too gooshy, they are excellent reliable parents who despite all their efforts to see otherwise, still got stuck with a weak, lazy, good for nothing, leech of a son.
I've been doing drugs every day of my life since I was 12 when I first tried pot. That took over for a few years, I had friends we we're young blah blah blah. A bit later I got into painkillers, then heroin. This lasted.. 5 years or so until I got clean for 3 years and started a suboxone maintenance program. Goodie gumdrops, one drug substituted for another, just this one cheaper and easier to get. I'm not giving this history in any way to gloat, but to give background information for what I want to say next, the crux of my problem.
The problem isn't the drugs. The problem is me. I am broken. it pains me to say this but I am. Actually it doesn't really illicit a painful reaction, more like detached resignation and a bit of relief for seeing things clearly. Things normal people want to do, I simply have no interest in. I do not go out. I do not have friends. If I wanted to I could make them, I've always been good at making friends. But I just don't want to. An example, a girl recently offered herself up to me for basically whatever I wanted to do to her and if you looked at my face right that moment my face would be same as a man who just realized Wendy's didn't charge him for that soda he just. It just.. didn't mean anything to me.
I'm a husk. I used far too many psychoactive drugs (just about everything you can think of) during my adolescents and I'm fairly sure I caused some damage.. certain processes that take place in the brain during it's development in adolescents must of gotten all fucked up by the shit I was putting in myself. But basically what it comes down to is, I'm not really here. I drive to work, do my job, come home, eat, read for hours to try fall asleep because I can't.. despite prescription medications.
I walk through my days as a shadow. I touch no one. No one touches me. Physically. Emotionally. When I think about these things, I feel chagrined. But I can't even tell if this feeling is based on the fact that I can't touch the world or more to the point because I think I should feel, so I tell myself I'm chagrined.
I'm so very, very broken. And I don't think there's anything that can make me whole. I can remember a time when I wasn't too deep in..
I laughed because a joke was funny, not because if I didn't it would look weird.
I would answer phone calls from friends and make plans to meet with them. No one calls anymore.. months/years of neglect has seen to that.
If a girl showed signs she wanted to get to know me more I would oblige. Now I pretend I didn't notice and scurry home to my cocoon, my protective bubble that is my room.
I suppose you could say I'm depressed. I have been all my life. But there's more to this than that I think. I don't sit around saying "poor me my life is so bad I'm so sad". It's more like I watch my life pass by as a detached observer who really has no preference which way things go. This isn't life. This isn't me. Or rather, this IS me now but it wasn't always.
I've come to terms that this is "me" now so I should just stop bitching about it and deal with it.
But damn it, I can dream of a day I might not be so broken. Can't I?
For example, if I killed myself I would reap unspeakable sadness on my mother and father, who throughout all my life have never done me any wrong. It's a good and main reason why I do not just off myself, because the people who would be hurt are the ones least deserving.
They are amazing people who have always given complete support to me through all my nefarious en devours. Without getting too gooshy, they are excellent reliable parents who despite all their efforts to see otherwise, still got stuck with a weak, lazy, good for nothing, leech of a son.
I've been doing drugs every day of my life since I was 12 when I first tried pot. That took over for a few years, I had friends we we're young blah blah blah. A bit later I got into painkillers, then heroin. This lasted.. 5 years or so until I got clean for 3 years and started a suboxone maintenance program. Goodie gumdrops, one drug substituted for another, just this one cheaper and easier to get. I'm not giving this history in any way to gloat, but to give background information for what I want to say next, the crux of my problem.
The problem isn't the drugs. The problem is me. I am broken. it pains me to say this but I am. Actually it doesn't really illicit a painful reaction, more like detached resignation and a bit of relief for seeing things clearly. Things normal people want to do, I simply have no interest in. I do not go out. I do not have friends. If I wanted to I could make them, I've always been good at making friends. But I just don't want to. An example, a girl recently offered herself up to me for basically whatever I wanted to do to her and if you looked at my face right that moment my face would be same as a man who just realized Wendy's didn't charge him for that soda he just. It just.. didn't mean anything to me.
I'm a husk. I used far too many psychoactive drugs (just about everything you can think of) during my adolescents and I'm fairly sure I caused some damage.. certain processes that take place in the brain during it's development in adolescents must of gotten all fucked up by the shit I was putting in myself. But basically what it comes down to is, I'm not really here. I drive to work, do my job, come home, eat, read for hours to try fall asleep because I can't.. despite prescription medications.
I walk through my days as a shadow. I touch no one. No one touches me. Physically. Emotionally. When I think about these things, I feel chagrined. But I can't even tell if this feeling is based on the fact that I can't touch the world or more to the point because I think I should feel, so I tell myself I'm chagrined.
I'm so very, very broken. And I don't think there's anything that can make me whole. I can remember a time when I wasn't too deep in..
I laughed because a joke was funny, not because if I didn't it would look weird.
I would answer phone calls from friends and make plans to meet with them. No one calls anymore.. months/years of neglect has seen to that.
If a girl showed signs she wanted to get to know me more I would oblige. Now I pretend I didn't notice and scurry home to my cocoon, my protective bubble that is my room.
I suppose you could say I'm depressed. I have been all my life. But there's more to this than that I think. I don't sit around saying "poor me my life is so bad I'm so sad". It's more like I watch my life pass by as a detached observer who really has no preference which way things go. This isn't life. This isn't me. Or rather, this IS me now but it wasn't always.
I've come to terms that this is "me" now so I should just stop bitching about it and deal with it.
But damn it, I can dream of a day I might not be so broken. Can't I?

