JasperTheReckless
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Nov 1, 2011
- Messages
- 339
Lately I've been out of the dark hole that daily sigma left me in, the depression lifted and I can look around and see the world again.
I just don't like it. I'm fine, I guess, but I'm sick of people saying it gets better.
Is it such a horrible thing to say, that I don't care? I don't care if it gets better. The cons out weigh the pros, and for most decisions, that's a no go for me.
So here's my conundrum. I've been sick to my stomach with confusion trying to understand why I fantasize about suicide when I'm not in the hole. I personally have never heard of a suicide from frustration, or repulsion from the world.
I think inside all I want is for someone to tell me that it's okay to do it.
But I'm scared to try, I feel like I'm more scared of waking up retarded or vegetative. I'm not sure if that's worse to my friends, or what's left of my family.
The more I think about it the more I tell myself that a 9mm is a small bullet.
I'm really angry and confused and twisted up inside and my sick drug addled brain thinks it would be dark and clever to die from a bullet to the chest, ol' boy died from a broken heart.
I try and hide from it, but I'm lonely, I'm sad in a way I don't understand.
Sometime I hope Dante is wrong, and that I will not be judged so harshly for my actions
I just don't like it. I'm fine, I guess, but I'm sick of people saying it gets better.
Is it such a horrible thing to say, that I don't care? I don't care if it gets better. The cons out weigh the pros, and for most decisions, that's a no go for me.
So here's my conundrum. I've been sick to my stomach with confusion trying to understand why I fantasize about suicide when I'm not in the hole. I personally have never heard of a suicide from frustration, or repulsion from the world.
I think inside all I want is for someone to tell me that it's okay to do it.
But I'm scared to try, I feel like I'm more scared of waking up retarded or vegetative. I'm not sure if that's worse to my friends, or what's left of my family.
The more I think about it the more I tell myself that a 9mm is a small bullet.
I'm really angry and confused and twisted up inside and my sick drug addled brain thinks it would be dark and clever to die from a bullet to the chest, ol' boy died from a broken heart.
I try and hide from it, but I'm lonely, I'm sad in a way I don't understand.
Sometime I hope Dante is wrong, and that I will not be judged so harshly for my actions