My Predetermined Suicide

“A pill to make you numb, a pill to make you dumb…
A pill to make you anybody else…
But all the drugs in this world won’t save her from herself…”

I was flipping through my burn book this afternoon with my boyfriend. I’ve never come that close to sharing the contents of this book with anyone. No one has ever read my black book before. You here on the internet are the only ones I have shared anything with in regards to that. However, in the interest of trust in the relationship between boyfriend and I, I want to show him the entire journal. But its so hard! In the past I considered burning the damn things, hence the title burn book. But, I can’t. Its like one of my horcruxes. It’s a part of me and if I destroy it I’ll be destroying what has come to define me, my past and my madness.

So in short, I haven’t shown boyfriend everything of the book’s entirety just yet, that’s something I’m not ready to do at this point in time. Even though I want to, the thought makes me panic because there is that air of uncertainty. What is he going to think? Will it help him understand me or will I just make him sad? I don’t want to make him sad or upset.

I found another poem in the burn book that I wrote back in July of 2005. It may sound completely cheesy now, but at the time it expressed my concrete desire to kill myself, but it also radiated that sense of apprehension. However, at the time I sincerely believed that I would die by suicide, that was how the light was going to go out. I thought it was fate. Enjoy the poem and thank you for reading everyone.

burnbookpoem1

Do you like my demon dragon?

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Stop it Spell Check, Dysphoria is a Real Word.

Neo: “You ever have that feeling where you’re not sure if you’re awake or still dreaming?”

Choi: “All the time. It’s called mescaline, it’s the only way to fly.”

Have you ever had something stuck in your head on repeat? Its as if my brain is trying to tell me something. Assuming, mayhaps, that repetitive statements will embed themselves deeper into my psyche (despite my protests) OR my short term memory is broken and all I can remember are the last few points of input that bounced into my cranium like a game of Pong. Whichever one of those statements is true, I cannot relinquish myself of a specific Matrix quote (see above). Even here while I am sitting at work, I have that scene playing over and over again in my head….an insomniac Keanu Reeves, the white rabbit tattoo, the girl with the cool nose/ear combo piercing (Which I secretly really want), the gritty lighting in the apartment hallway…and then…the words.

“Not sure if you’re awake or still dreaming” “Not sure if you’re awake or still dreaming” “Not sure if you’re awake or still dreaming” “It’s the only way to fly” “Only way to fly…..only way to fly”.

For the record I’m not on any drugs and for that matter I’m not even caffeinated (an atrocity, I know, especially since I’m at work…the caffeine part, not the drugs. Obviously).

So what’s the point to all this? Probably nothing, I needed something to write about. Perhaps my subconscious wishes that I would watch The Matrix again or perhaps my mind is indeed broken. Its felt broken, all of a sudden, for a week or two.

Brace yourselves, we seem to be approaching Self Reflectionville!!

WAIT! Sorry, before we venture there I need to make a brief detour and let you all know that eating Doritos and then drinking cold Yorkshire tea makes it taste like fish. FISH. *stink eye*

As i was saying, I know for a fact that I am depressed (I’ve been diagnosed so it doesn’t come as a shock), however I have been so good at managing my emotions or lack there of, however these past two weeks threw all my determination into the dirt. Then stepped on it. With a truck. And then exploded.

You get the picture.

Nothing is very fun anymore, even writing this is a struggle. Why are words so hard? I would prefer to assault the keyboard like a monkey on crank rather then trying to be eloquent. Button smashing a symphony of savagery and raw untamed dysphoria (stop it spell check, that’s a real word). I can’t tell if I give no fucks or if I don’t care enough to give a fuck. I can’t even bring myself to drink, which used to solve these deadening numby episodes. That or marijuana, which I am sadly SADLY lacking in. That will be my next quest, the quest for the Green Leaf of Ganja. it will be epic.

All I want to do right now is play Skyrim (even though I have played the shit out of that game) and beat things to death with my sword. Yay therapy.

So in short, I am depressed and don’t give a fuck about shit anymore (or realistically, at the moment). Annnnddd…I just realized I failed to write and introductory post explaining who I am, what this blog is about, etc. SUNSHINE AND RAINBOWS AND UNICORNS WITH ICE CREAM POOP!!

Just kidding.

More or less, this is a blog about stuff that can be found in what I call “the burn book”. A dark little memoir of my life. The plan is to share EVERYTHING in the hopes of using this liberation as a method of therapy. The alternative is hiding in the bathroom with my feelings. No bueno.

Back to work.