The reasons I am not killing myself tonight are: 1. My bedroom is messy. I don't want anyone to see it. 2. I don't have a top on and it's too hot to put one on. I'd rather not be naked when they find my body. Fucking morbid, I know. Self-pitying, wallowing bullshit. Yet also, just fact.
I can't even write what has happened. I read back over diary entries now and then. Visually halted by my cathartic expression of failings of someone or something around me. My dog just died. My mother lied to me. I'm blind in one eye. He raped me... etc. but I can't do it this time.
It's not even as bad as some things. It's not the worst thing to happen to me. But it feels like it. My eyes are twitching. When I bring my hand up to light my cigarette, I realise my hands are shaking. My body, shuddering. I cry a bit and it goes away. It's not even me crying, it's that person who was me. My body. Laying on my bed. I'm watching myself just feeling numb.
I wish I was 14. I wish I was having a panic attack because I'm agoraphobic. I wish my boyfriend had just hit me. I wish I was dying. I wish I was dead. All I want is for my son to be okay. If it wasn't for him I would be dead.
This isn't a case of "I can't cope". I do not want to fucking cope. I want it to end. I don't know how I can go on knowing what I know. Although I know I will go on, I will carry on, I will be okay. But I don't know how. I can't see anything at the end of this "tunnel".... except it's just a box.
