Suicidal

Kill Trend Suicide (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s times like this that I’m glad I don’t have a gun. I think that if I did, I’d shoot myself. I’m too scared to do it another way.

What is there to live for? I don’t have anything. I live with my mom and her husband. I can’t escape. I can’t live on my own because I can’t afford it. I barely make all my bills now, and I barely have any. Jerry is the loudest goddamn person on this planet, so I have to wear earplugs to get any peace. I can’t work on anything when he’s around because he can’t close his damn mouth. He’s always doing that stupid cough. He’s almost sneezing without covering his mouth. He doesn’t talk to me but he complains about me to my mother. I call him every name in the book because he’s a fat lazy slob that doesn’t care about anyone but himself. I don’t feel like he cares about Mom. I know he wishes I was gone. I bet he wishes I didn’t even exist. I don’t blame him for that. I’m awful to him. I just get so frustrated because my ears always hurt from wearing the earplugs. I feel like I can’t get anything done because he’s only gone from the house from early morning to 4 or 5 in the afternoon. My mom is always here, but when she does go to work by some miracle, I’m only alone for a couple hours. That’s just 2-3 hours to work on my novels and try to do housework so that I can clean without an audience. Honestly, I don’t get much cleaning done. I hate cleaning when everyone else is just sitting around doing nothing. I hate that he’s always around, being loud. I hate it when I have days off that coincide with his days off because that means I have to wear the earplugs all day. I hate that he’s the only person that buys food in this house. He gets mad at mom for spending money. He gets mad at mom when he suspects that she’s spent money. He hates me. I wish mom didn’t make him pick me up from work. We don’t want to be around each other. He should stay out of my life. I would happily stay out of his. I know I’m not wanted. I’d be just fine with him if I had some peace and quiet. I just want some time to do what I need to do! I stay up late so I can try to get stuff done while he’s asleep. I can’t leave my room though, because he snores loud enough that I can hear him in my bathroom. Never mind trying to get anything done in the living room. Forget ever having time to be in some other room that isn’t my own fucking room! I can’t get anything done! I partially blame him because what I need to get done takes concentration and all he ever does is play on the computer and COUGH! What the hell?! I pay for the goddamn internet. I should buy one of those stupid internet devices that plugs into your computer so that I can turn the internet off in the house. That would show him.  I hate living with him. I hate living around him.

I hate being so dependent on my mom. I need her to smash bugs. I need her to get to work. I need her so I can survive because I can’t afford to move out. I don’t know how to drive. I don’t have my own place. I don’t have anything. I barely have anything that belongs to me. I have to deal with her constant smoking and drinking. It makes me sick. I think the smoking is literally making me sick. When I’m around her too much when she’s smoking, I end up with a sore throat and swollen tonsils. She’s always so depressed. She treats me like I’m a little kid because I live like a little kid.

I hate myself most of all. I don’t do anything that I’m supposed to. I should know how to drive by now. I should have moved out by now. In less than six months, I’m going to be 24. I’m going to be 24 years old and living with my mother. I’m a failure. I’ve failed at life. No one outside of my family loves me and I don’t blame them. I’m an awful person. I’m worthless. I haven’t been writing. I’m not in school because I can’t get the financial aid needed. I’ve been applying for things. I can’t get the information I need from the school to successfully apply for grants. I can’t get reference letters because I don’t talk to my teachers. I work hard. I go to work as often as possible. I work hard while I’m there. I do my best with my writing, but its never good enough. I can never work on it enough or long enough. I can’t get a job that pays more than minimum wage. I’m so deep in debt with school that I feel like I’m drowning. I’m worthless. I’m just so worthless. I’m undeserving of love or anything. I have nothing and no one to live for. I wish I could just kill myself.

I don’t know what’s waiting on the other side. I don’t know if I’ll go to Hell if I kill myself. I can only imagine that Hell would be filled with country music, that’d be my own person Hell. It makes me want to kill myself anyway, and I’d already be dead. I bet it’s an old western town, devoid of a friendly face, the stench of cow feces on the air, and unending country music playing no matter where I go. I bet that’s Hell for me. If I kill myself, I bet that’s where I’d go. I’d deserve it too. I feel like I deserve it now. I’ve failed at life. I’m only 23 years old and I’ve failed so miserably. I’m so beyond worthless that I really should kill myself. I just don’t have the means, beyond things that I’m too scared to do. I’m not dramatic enough or brave enough to cut my wrists. I don’t know how to tie a proper noose, and I don’t think I can find a place in my room to hang it. Everything is pretty flimsy in here. I wouldn’t steal pills from my mother, she needs those, and she’s the only one in the house that might have pills you can actually overdose on. Jerry has a gun somewhere around here, but I honestly don’t know how to use it. I think he’d notice if I went looking for it. Not that I think he’d care if I killed myself, I bet deep down he’d be happy about it, but I doubt he wants me to do it with his gun. It’s a shotgun anyway, that’s pretty tricky to figure out how to use on yourself, unless you’re aiming for your foot or you have really long arms. I don’t have long arms. I don’t know how else to do it. I’m a writer. I should be more creative, but I just don’t know how else I can feasibly do it.

I guess I’m not committing suicide, but man, I’m thinking about it. I don’t deserve to live. Nothing worthwhile is going to come from my life. I’m a failure. I won’t be anything but a failure. I can’t even get my degree because I’m so awful at everything. I want to die right now. This isn’t a cry for help because no one really reads my blog. This is just me venting. If I had my own gun, it’d be a suicide letter. I don’t own a gun though. I can’t walk anywhere at this time of night that sells guns. This isn’t a suicide letter. This is me saying that I wish it was.

Suicide is a terrible thing. It’s selfish. It’s grotesque for the soul. I look down on those that commit suicide. In the past, I haven’t felt much sympathy for them. They’re leaving behind people that love them. They’re giving up on potential. There are so many other ways to improve your life, suicide shouldn’t be an answer. It’s stupid. It’s ridiculous. I know all that. I feel all that. Right now, in this moment though, I’d still do it. I’m selfish. I’m awful. I’m worthless. My life is a mess and I don’t have a clue about how to fix it. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to get better. I don’t have anyone to talk to. I don’t have the kind of help I need. I don’t have anything worth living for anymore. Suicide is a shit answer, and I’m still thinking about it.

I hate myself more than ever, and this is the first time that I’ve been so far gone that I would actually do it. I know myself. If I had my own gun, I’d actually do it.

I’ll figure something out I guess.

Have a good one,
Nixie