I want to die.

I will be honest. I want to kill myself. I want to die.
I also want to go hiking, get lost, and learn to survive on my own.
I want to no longer exist where feelings, relationships, friendship, “responsibility” exist.
I want to be free from all of it. I want to exist alone. Outside of my over thinking, my depression, my fear of getting close to anyone- friendship or relationship.

I want to die. How pathetic. A few weeks ago I was excited because I DIDN’T want to die. But now…. I want to die.

I want to die.

Why? I am not entirely sure. Because I can’t help but fall for anyone who kisses me? Because I meet entirely cool and genuine people, and avoid feelings towards them like the plague?

I only consider 5 people in my life as a friend: My band, and my high school friend, and my “main bitch” who has been my longest friend.

I know I am more than my depression. More than my 3rd person view of myself. But some nights…. some nights I want to hike to a cliff, run, and plunge calmly to my death; head first. That is how I’ve always properly imagined my death. A death of my own choice. A death I had control of. A death in a beautiful place in which I find comfort. I want death.

Now, I know I also want life. But I do not believe I will find love. I do not believe I will find God. I do not believe I will ever be rid of my paranoid thoughts, nor be rid of my depression. And right now, I am fighting walking the few short miles to the nearest mountains, where I would lie down in the cold and try to sleep. Sleep away from the people. Away from the noise. Away from the ‘normalities’ that I have to conform to.

I just want to exist happily. I want the Sun. I want to hike with my brother forever.

I once said “Heaven is sitting in a car with my brother,” but that is incorrect. Heaven is hiking with my brother forever. I miss my brother. Tonight I could use a hug from him. He is one of the few people who truly understands me. He goes through the same struggles with depression, self doubt, self loathing that I do.

Tonight I want to be with him. Hiking. Talking. Laughing. Venting. Complaining. Crying. Anything. I just want to be with my brother. He is the only human being I know of that I feel happy around, even when I was in my most miserable state.

I want to die.

I want to die.

I want to die.

Why haven’t I died already? I’ve had enough opportunity.

My car crash when I was 6 years old. My bike accident where I crash landed on my head. Swallowing a concoction of several poisons; weed killer, bug spray, wasp killer, rubbing alcohol, gasoline, and several other chemicals I don’t remember the names of- nor do I care. My stepmom flooding my trailer with propane. When I tried to hang myself, my last attempt on my life many years ago. Tonight? I want to die. Why haven’t I died already?

I get that I am alive for a reason. I have “purpose” my mom claims. But tonight, I don’t see that. I am a lousy musician, I am a subpar human. I am a below average friend. Tonight I want to die.

Tonight I want to die.

I am crying. Not “ugly” not “pretty.” Just crying. Tears flooding my eyes, a few drops escaping my eyelashes. I want to sob. I want to bawl. I want to wail until I have nothing left in me but exhaustion, thus compelling me to sleep. And if I sleep, I will assuredly have nightmares. I will wake up to police sirens. I will make a breakfast of a 2 egg sandwich, either wheat bread or an everything bagel. Then I will force myself to rehearse, or adventure, or anything. Anything to keep my mind off stupid Canadian girls that kiss me when we’re drunk. Anything to keep my mind off girls that I could actually be into, but won’t allow myself because I am leaving in a few short days. Anything to keep me from slipping into the existential dread that threatens to consume my mind every day.

I am so tired of existing.

I spoke recently to a woman who believes there is existence after death. I don’t know if I believe this. I don’t know if there is life after death. I don’t know if there is a “God,” and if there is, I don’t think god is who the religion I grew up in suggests.

I want to know. I want to die. When I die, I will know. Or I will stop existing, which to me, is the closest thing to making sense, and my biggest fear (even though tonight I want death). But something inside me suggests I am wrong to believe that fully. One friend believes our energy is transferred elsewhere, claiming his son is the spirit his long deceased father.

I believe him because he believes it. Just like I believe my mom because she believes in god. Just like I believe my friend when she says her dead family visits her when she asks, because she believes it.

What do I believe? Why am I here? Why do I exist?

I had given most of who I am to make a relationship survive. I was not enough.

I made out with a girl when drunk, now things are weird between us.

I over think the talent of myself.

I just want to be happy all the time. I want to be happy. Why am I not happy?

Maybe I focus too much on “what possibly” rather than “this actually.”

Maybe I should end my life, end my misery and pain. Then MAYBE I would be ‘happy’.

Right now I am not happy.

Right now I want to die.


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