The 28th December I finally got round to killing myself, obviously it didn’t work although not for the want of trying and I ended up in hospital.
I have this suicide hangover, left with this mental void. I’m alive but not living, mentally it’s a strange place to be, I can have a perfectly good conversation with anyone but in the back of my mind I have the something extra, and unwanted, that informs me of the numerous ways I can try next time, it’s visual flashes really.
I’m broken mentally, life has truly kicked the shit out of me and if I have to listen to one person tell me things will get better I’d probably poke my eyes out, that light at the end of the tunnel is just some bloke with a flash light and a fresh bag of shit, that hope that people tell you to hang on to is an illusion; that hope they speak of is just an excuse they use so you don’t die in front of them because people just don’t deal with death very well.
The unexpected result of this is my gran, well a thought of her lecturing me on “ all of the things our people went through and you want to throw away your life” and people think Catholic guilt is bad, try living with Jewish self punishment.
I have few friends, I lost them when my engagement died after my ex ran off to be play at being a straight woman, the pain of gang rape, living memory that my father was nonsey little prick fiddling with me stinking of stale whiskey. I’ve made the most of what I am, I’ve worked in spite of my abuses, I got through everything and still managed to maintain this outward hard arse mask, people like the mask, no one wants to be around a misery chops and I’ve become more miserable over time.
I lock the world outside, since my crash and brain damage I can’t function properly, I’m frustrated and increasingly isolated, useless and in my head the future is grim.