I have trouble humouring someone that I do not care for or am indifferent to. I have trouble engaging because it stirs up a lot of emotions. Occasionally I think to my self ‘just take part in a few things and get out’ so I try, but it’s all or nothing. I stand at my door, take in a deep breath of Slovakian B.O and faeces, and slip on my ‘good patient persona mask’ I then throw myself into everything. I compliment a person who I don’t consider a person, just some putrid piece of meat that is desperately clambering up the hierarchy in their own slimy way. Or I show my face and instrumentally display that I can get on with my peers in front of analysing eyes.
I smile, chat, play Scrabble and go to the social club. I take part in everything. I become everything that I’m not and it leaves me defeated. I did this recently, kept it up for two days then had a mini breakdown under the stress of it all. To be told that you are good at putting glitter on Christmas stars with glue by a twat ,without going to broadmoor shows a lot of will power.
Opiate withdrawal and playing Scrabble crushed me and I could not stop crying which, in it’s self I didn’t mind, but I did consider my death.
MY BIG BIRTHDAY BOMB BONANZA BINGE
The plan is, and always has been, for as far as I can remember, is to make a decision hopefully when I’m past sixty to blow my self to pieces.
If I’m suffering with pain or slowly dyeing from a terminal disease. I would spend what money I have on a rave in the woods. I would dance and get merry. And when it’s morning at about 4am when it’s quietened down for a bit, I’d go for a walk to the middle of a field with my speaker and put on Lynyrd Skynyrd- Free bird.
That first guitar note evokes such a feeling in me. I would scatter my self as the sun comes up.
Again, this is not due to a depressive episode. I do want to live for as long as possible, not in a transhumanistic sense. I don’t feel like a modern day Gilgsmesh with a ‘Special mission’ I just want that last bit of control over my life. It is not morbid. It’s logical.
I’m a euthymic, content person currently battling with pain. I have osteoarthritis and I’m aloof, shy and selective with whom I deal with, but harbouring no suicidal ideation. Homicidal -yes. Give me a world with no consequences and I’ll be down Sainsbury’s buying Viagra and 2stroke petrol for a chainsaw. You would truly see my id. But for now they’re just fantasies and grudges never to form. I’ve always wanted to push someone off a bridge, casually spark up a cigar then raise an eyebrow like Roger Moore. It ain’t gonna happen.