Dear diary,
I am a bad and selfish person. Someone told me this and I’ve done my best to erase it out of my mind because the person who said this to me is someone from whom I never wanted to hear these words.
But I stopped and considered things and realized how right they are. I am no longer capable of kindness of empathy. Everything that everybody says or does sends me into a fury. I love going to sleep at night. Mornings are always the worst part of everyday but honestly any moment that I’m awake is the worst part of everyday. I have not thought about any family or friends in quite some time, it’s difficult to remember when I considered them at all. I want to eat myself. I want to cut off little parts of my body and eat them.
I just re-read those words and they sound so ridiculous. I can’t parse anything out anymore. I can’t make sense of anything. I can’t even explain my meaninglessness or the constant searing hatred I feel. Do we even know anybody anymore? I don’t think I’ve been faithful to anyone a single day in my life. I am the biggest hypocrite I have ever known so why can’t everyone see it? I need something inside of me at every moment to make me feel better. I tried talking to you but that didn’t work because I don’t think you wanted to listen to me. I lied awake all night so many nights and tried talking to you but I never once received a reply. I have everyone I’ve ever known and i told you things I never should and my feelings were laid bare and they were scary ugly disgusting things and no one ever should have seen those. Why can I never control myself, not once?
I learned this all from mommy and daddy but I can’t blame them anymore. What I do and what I have done is not their fault and it never was. And it’s all right there in that red book so it doesn’t really make any sort of difference now anyway. They should have been nicer to me though. They should have pretended they loved me then maybe this awful thing wouldn’t have grown inside of me.
I feel so dizzy all the time and I think I reached inside and everything was awful. It only comes around once a year yet I was still able to fuck it up in the most grandiose fashion. You hate me now like everyone else. I think I’m done with everything now. I’ve fucked up enough thank you very much, time to cash in my chips.
I’ve long kicked around the idea of suicide in my head and all the different ways I could make this happen. The image of my lifeless body hanging from the ceiling is a particularly compelling one. I especially like the idea of leaving my window open and my bloated corpse perhaps swaying back and forth a bit if it’s a windy day. I have an abundance of neck ties in all sorts of colors that I never use and it seems possible to fashion something that would support my weight.
There’s also the classic of just buying a gun and blowing my brains out. I like to imagine how the wall would look behind me. Maybe there would be something artistic about my blood and brain matter splattering against the wall, sort of like an abstract painting. And again, the window. It would be sort of neat if flies got in and were getting stuck in my blood as it became more like syrup. My diseased brain seems to be the center of all the problems I cause so in a way it makes sense for it to sustain the most punishment. A giant hole would certainly prevent future complications. I wonder if I would stick the barrel in my mouth or against my temple or under my chin? I think the mouth is probably my preferred option as the phallic symbolism is somewhat amusing. Plus, taste is such a fine sense and it would be nice to really feel the physical instrument of my destruction in that way, it would be more intimate, an oily metallic taste would not be so bad as the last taste, would it?
Cutting is too harsh, I’ve never been good with knives and what if I didn’t go deep enough and passed out beforehand or something silly like that? A bottle of pills and a bottle of wine is maybe too soft, too clean.
Oh but I do so absolutely love the idea of finding the highest building and jumping off the roof! Haven’t we all wondered what flying feels like? That would have to be closest feeling to freedom I could ever have. And then my body would strike the ground and my head would explode and my bones would be turned to powder and my insides would spill out all over the place and then everyone could see and be 100% sure that I was dead.
Then they could start dancing right there in the streets and throw parties and drink and make toasts to the fact that I am no longer there. What a joyous moment that would be.
If I do it inside though I wonder what album I’ll put on for those final special moments. Or maybe I’ll put on a movie or both. And what will be the last thing I eat?
Sometimes I cry on and off for several hours and I don’t understand why. I’ve made a terrible mistake but I know how to correct it. After the parties are over I would really rather that no one think about me anymore. Unless once a year they want to visit my tombstone and spit on it or piss on it. I don’t think I would mind that so much.
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