It was just a thought.

I don't care about my life. At all. I don't care about myself. Yet I constantly complain that nobody else cares about me. How ironic.

I really shouldn’t be alive. I really rather not be alive. I passed out last night in an attempt to suffocate myself, in hopes of waking up to be somewhere not of this world. Instead, I woke up to the same miserable, pathetic life I tried so hard to escape. My friend Brittany once said that she swore there were angels watching over me. All evidence supports that statement. I have tried numerous occasions to die. Death has become my obsession over the years. The things I have done should have killed me. There is no other explanation than God and his army of seraphim guarding me closely. I don’t know why. All I know is that all I want is to die and all God wants is for me to live. I’ve strangled myself, hung myself, slit my wrists, overdosed on pills, overdosed on pills and chased them with vodka, put a trash bag over my head until I passed out, and now attempted to suffocate myself. My attempts have been in vain. Some how, something keeps me alive through it all. Pushes me to the edge but won’t let me fall off. I feel like the only sure way of dying is to shoot myself in the head. But attaining a gun is something I haven’t been able to do. It’s like God just shuts all the doors of death I try to enter. I saw God’s hand last night. That’s something I will never tell anyone for fear of sounding crazy because I know- I know­- it’s crazy. But it’s true. A pillow pressed tightly over my face, inhaling what I exhale, poisoning my lungs, I saw God’s hand reach out to me. I tried to grab it, I wanted to grab it, but I knew the only way I could grab it was to leave this world. So I pressed the pillow harder. And harder and harder. I inhaled sharply, my lungs screaming for oxygen got none. A weird tingle went through my entire body, like every part of me fell asleep. And then I fell asleep. A rush to my head, specks of light swarming around my shut eyes, and I was gone. Forever, I thought. But I awoke. I awoke and I was confused at first. Wondering why I was still here. How I was still here. I don’t understand. Why won’t God let me touch His hand? Why is He depriving me of eternal bliss? For what reason am I forced to suffer day in and day out? Why won’t he let me die?

I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life.

Sobriety. It is a fantasy I've been unable to attain thus far. Every time I think I can do it, I realize I can't. That's how I am with confidence too. I think that maybe I can have some. Then I realize, I don't. I don't have a drop of confidence in me. There was a point in time, long ago, not so long ago, when I was confident. When I didn't need anything to make me feel like I was important. Special. Needed. Real. I just knew it. I knew God created me and was going to do something incredible with my life. That confidence has gone. My worth has now disolved into the bedsheets and I am nothing. I am not important. Nor special. Nor needed. I often doubt that I am even real. I wonder if God really did create everyone with a purpose. A plan. Maybe not everyone has a purpose for living, we just do simply because we don't know any better. Are some people just space fillers? Am I one of those people? I used to really believe that God gave me such a hard life so He could use me in some amazing way. Now I wonder if God didn't even give me this life. Maybe I created all of this myself. Maybe I was just destined to be nothing. I feel like I'm holding onto this life by the skin of my teeth. Just with the hope that maybe, if I can get through all of this, there will be something amazing waiting for me. But I'm beginning to strongly doubt it and I really think that maybe I should just let go. Pain is only worth it if there is something to be attained at the end of it all. Through all these years of pain, you would think that by now I might have something to show for it. But all I have are these ugly scars and suffocating fears. I don't think it's worth it anymore. Used. Over and over and over again. It gets tiring, it really does. My heart is being held together by weak thread, threatening to unravel at any given moment. Maybe it's just time I take a seam-ripper to it and put myself out of my misery. I know it's selfish. I know some may find it overdramatic. But I don't care at this point. For once, I want to do something for me. The other night at work, he backed me up against the wall, whispering sickeningly thick, "You want me to prove I'm not gay? Want me to prove it right here? Right now?" Fear ran up my spine and twisted my stomach. All I could choke out was "...no...no..." I'm tired of feeling that fear. I am. I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to hurt anymore. I don't want to feel like the only time I'm wanted is when my mouth is shut and my legs are spread. I don't want to feel that way anymore. I want to feel loved and needed. I want to feel like the little girl I once was. Many empty, dirty nights have separated me from her so far that I barely remember what she looked like. How did it feel to be loved and wanted just because I existed? How did that feel? I can't remember. I would give anything to go back in time and freeze those years forever. Anything at all. I just want to be loved. For me. In all of my faults and inadequecies. I don't think this world is meant for me. I think that maybe God made a mistake. I think maybe I'm one of those space-fillers. I know God must love me. He must. I want to go be with Him. I want to feel loved. I want to lay next to him in a room full of yellow balloons. Looking up at them through the strings. Next to the one who really, truly loves me. For me.

I haven't been sober in over a week. In fact, I'm not sober right now. I find myself forgetting what sober feels like. And then I start sobering up, and immediately I remember. So I change it. My booze. My drugs. They're all that's running me at the moment. I have a liquored up smile and high, squinty eyes. In my heart, I feel like this isn't what happiness is. But in my head, I think it's close enough. I don't want to live like this anymore. I'm tired of having to consume something in order to feel alright. It isn't even that it makes me feel good, necessarily. It's that it doesn't make me feel bad. And at this point in time, I just can't bear to feel bad. Being numb is so much better. But I know it's wrong. And I'm hurting people I really care about along the way. My sister has been begging me to put the bottle down but I promise her every time it's my last time. I promised Nick I'd be done drinking. I stopped, but now I can't stop smoking. It's like I always need something. And I just want to be filled with this immense joy so I don't need anything. Happiness is circumstantial; joy is everlasting. I need joy. I need to be ohkay with being sober. Soberiety needs to not be my enemy anymore. God created emotion, who am I to try and numb it? I want so badly to be sober and stay sober. As my high goes down, I want to keep it that way. I can only pray that the Lord will give me the strength I need to live through life sober. Because, He knows I'm not strong enough to slay this demon myself.

I'm not worth it. I'm not worth even the smallest of things. The tiniest of inconveniences simply cannot be done. Because I'm just not worth it. Sometimes I wonder what I am worth. But when I try to think of something, I come up with nothing. I'm not sure that there is someone more worthless than me in all the world. Every fiber in me screams for someone to love me. To care. Just once. Every fiber in me wants to fall apart because no one does. I'm worthless. I'm trash. Nobody has been so worthless in the history of time. Even the bugs in the dirt beneath my knees have more of a purpose than I do. It's times like these where I wonder why I even bother. Every breath I breathe is purposeless. Every beat my heart makes is just a waste. I'm just a waste. It's times like these where I think it would just be best if I didn't exist at all. Anymore. I think it's for the best.

I'm a master of metaphors. A ventriloquist of verbs. A composer of compounds. I'm a slave-driver of similes and an artist of adjectives. Words bow at the flick of my tongue. They quiver at the touch of my finger. I control words. It's what I do. Nothing could come more natural. Do I sound arrogant? Proud and confident? That's the words speaking. When arranged in a certain manner, I can make myself sound any way I want to sound. I can sound arrogant or meek. Mischevious or innocent. Do you like someone shy? I can sound shy. Or maybe you'd like me to come off more outgoing, because I can do that too. A few harsh words put together will make you fear me. Some well-placed hesitations will have you laying me down like a tile floor and walking all over me. When I run my sentences on and on like this without any breaks or pauses for a very long time perhaps throwing in a bunch of adjectives and lots and lots of descriptions of meaningless thoughts and places you begin to think of me as a jabber mouth and you can almost imagine the long exhale I will produce by the end of this because just reading this in your head makes you short of breath. Maybe I'll talk in fragments. Very short. To the point. Explanations unimportant. I'm too important. Too important for you. No time. No time at all. No time for you. Can't use complete sentence. Too busy. Too busy for you. Oh, sweetie. I didn't mean it. I was just playing, I'm so sorry. Let me comfort you with some soothing words. You poor thing, I want to just scrub that little frown off that sad face. Scrub, scrub, scrub! Now, there! Look at you! Let me see your smile? Where is it? Oh, oh! There it is! How old do you feel? Feeling like you're a little too old to be talked to like that? How do you think of me now? I don't care how you think of me. I'm sure what you think is wrong. Your opinions of me are based soley on superficial judgments and empty rumors. Where I have a backbone, you have nothing. A jellyfish has more spine than you do, probably more intelligence as well. Have you ever cared about something worth caring about? Do you know what is real from what is fake? Look in the mirror. There you will find a splendid example of what fake is. Nahh I'm just joshin ya, bro. You know I don't mean any of this, ha! Right? Right? Nope. I'm a priest of puns, a rabbi of run-ons. I'm a pastor of prepositions. I sit on my crucifix of conjunctions like the Jesus of Juxtaposition. Analyze me like the Holy Scripture to see if you can figure out what is really me, and what is merely a bunch of well-placed words, ordered to form a facade of who I am. See if you can tell the difference. If there is one.

I mourn over the loss of the joy in me. I'm so hurt. I'm at this point where I can't bear to feel. Because every time I feel, I hurt. This is my breaking point and I'm trying my best to keep it together. I'm at a loss for words for once in my life. I can't help but to reiterate how unhappy I am. With everything. I don't know if I've ever felt so worthless. So uncared for. So unloved. So pointless, in my life. I'm just helpless right now. I'm on my knees, and I actually feel like this is the only right thing in my life. The Lord has dragged me to my knees, because I wouldn't go willingly. I've been leaning on my friends. My drugs. My alcohol. My medications. My family. For everything. And now I can't. My friends have deserted me. My drugs, my alcohol leave me feeling horrible and empty. My medications don't work anymore. My family is broken into pieces. And I remain. But barely. Scraping my fingernails in the dirt, being dragged into a direction I've never dared to wander, my nails chipping to the cuticle, I'm finally on my knees. Crying and praying. Screaming out to God in hope that things will finally get better. My eyes will flow unceasingly until the Lord looks down from heaven and sees.