Men typically off their selves in a violent way… Guns to the brain where brain matter is plastered all around their blown out head with particles of their memories, emotions, life are adorning their surroundings. A life immoratilized in suicide. No matter what the fuck you ever accomplish, that’s your crowning accomplishment. There’s also the avenue of hanging…. I have known more than a handful who have done both.
I’m one of the pill popping pussies who couldn’t take the physical pain of those options….
With that said, here is my story from two nights ago….
Begging, pleading, desperation…. I rolled over to my nightstand and pulled out a smörgåsbord of scripts… Not knowing what the fuck I had in my hand which was spiking from all the pills, I placed them in my mouth… I held them before that… Felt them turning around in my hand… The power if ending it all, literally held in my hand. I finally felt like I had some fucking control again….
I couldn’t swallow. I wasn’t sure if I’d actually accomplish my goal, or if I’d end up surrounded by people talking to me about how much shit I had unsuccessfully swallowed….
So I spit the half dissolved mouthful of pills back in one of the many prescription bottles currently cluttering my bed with the contaminating and damning proof of the moment… The moment lost…. The time that got away….
And began to make a doggy door with a knife in my bedroom door….