Right Round

 Sometimes I don't feel my own self worth. I really like to imagine doing destructive things to myself and wonder what it must be like to feel my last breath. It's a strange fantast, the idea of what the sensation must feel like when you inhale for the last time. I sit in my room, in my uncomfortable club chair, and take in a shallow breath and feel the sensation as I exhale it to completion and I wonder if what I am feeling is what I will feel when the moment hits me. Will my heart stop with a fierce pain. Will my vision blacken out and will I exasperate wildly causing my limbs to flail about from here to there. Will I hear the last bit of relevance in the room. Will that sound be the obnoxious voices from the television, from some random television show, with random people, doing random things, to get through this thoroughly random and unorganized chaotic life? Will my last thought be "oh fuck, not now! I'm not ready." Or will I accept it because I have no options other than to accept it. It is strange to contemplate mortality. Knowing that I have probably already lived half of my life makes the future seem bleak. The thought of living through one more day of uncertainty, it's a scary notion.

And yet....I linger on thoughts of how much harm I can inflict upon myself.

I havent actually gotten to a point where inflicting physical pain upon myself is an option. To be honest, the thought of cutting myself in anyway sounds painful. And I hate blood. I hate the thought of things coming out of me. But I did wonder what it would be like to kit my skin with a meat cleaver. I wondered how the pain would shoot through me or what the sound of cracking/break bones would sound like. It's crushing, these thoughts of mortal dread. I don't have them often and I don't entertain them often, but sometimes I just wonder "what can I do to feel more?" "what can I do to feel anything?" "what can I do to just be relevant?"....Each thought is embarrassing and highly questionable. I dunno, maybe I am tired of being tired and getting old. 

I remember when I didn't have a car and I used to have to walk everywhere and use public transportation. The thoughts that ran around my head in the early morning or late evening transit would scare me. I often wondered what it would be like to buy a gun and just shoot myself on an empty bus. The thoughts were somewhat gruesome and grotesque. I imagined the outfit that I would be wearing. The placement of the gun in my mouth. I imagined the blood splatter and pattern on the windows of the bus, sprayed out like an inocous fountain of red and gore like some trashy horror movie. I imagined the hole that it would leave and the stench that would accompany the exit wound as the skin and bones seeped with blood. I entertained the thought so much that it felt like a movie scene in my head and a clear "that would show them all that I am a tortured individual" and it didn't buy me any sympathy from the rational side of my head that said "this too shall pass". The fact that I could never be vocal about that thought or any of the other thoughts in my head either mean that I am functioning the way that I should as a member of this species. Or I am too far gone and only willing to accept whatever outcome that nature/universe has for me, because I have no control over those things. 

I think I just need to stop thinking so much and be just like the rest of the people on this earth. Demand things from others. Demand time from others. Demand to be liked and loved by others. Demand respect from those who see me as less than and assert myself as they have done to me. It's not enough to hold a conversation or have shared interests with people if all that they do is override everything with thier simpleness. Honestly, there is really no meaning to anything if the stars of other peoples stories also want to be the star of yours. It's unfair. And quite frankly, I am not looking to be the star of someone elses life. It is exhausting have to be the one who everyone loves and cares about and seeks out for guidance and advice....all of the things that I have never had to do. I just think it would be nice to have a bit part and to be an important, functioning storyline to others. It is frustrating being an after thought or a storyline that just stopped being interesting. That is deaths nail right there. When all of the sudden things stop mattering and you become interchangeable with funny annecdotes from past experiences...that is when every scatterbrained idea begins to hit with an intensity of a thousand sharp knives. It kills my soul. 

I can never be the person that I want to be. I am given 2 options: Work and survive or don't work and be homeless. Working harder is not an option. Being a vagrant is not an option. Seeing my dreams come into existence is hard, when you can't even get others to realize the dreams that you have. And to be fair, people are not mind readers. But I have spent so much of my life being "creative and talented" enough that it shouldn't surprise people when I tell them something new that I have accomplished. It always seems to be taken with very little fan fare. It's as if my interests aren't at all interesting and I should know that. 

What it all comes down to it this, I have these moments that flood my head with so many things that stab at my heart and soul repeatedly. Sometimes I can overcome it in a matter of hours. Sometimes it drags on for days or weeks. But I know that if I take a moment and contemplate what it is that I am thinking about and swirl it around on paper (or type it out), then I know that I am still processing and adjusting. I know that I will be fine once the feelings pass by and I no longer feel envious or jealous or angry or spiteful or the myriad of other negative emotions that get me through my days. Something will pick up and I will most likely feel better again soon.

For how long is another question.