In the bathtub. Staring blankly at the wall as warm water from the shower rained over my head.
I am a misfit. It’s not a label I conform to. It’s just the reality that exists for me.
How many times have I told the gods that I want life to end right here and now? How many times until they listen to my wish?
Life is becoming harder each day. It’s not suppose to become easier anyway. The case is that I become better. Firmer. Wiser.
Or I deteriorate.
I can masquerade my psychopathic tendencies as boundless intelligence and philosophical depth. It helped that I was an empath so I can manipulate people and their emotions.
But when everything is failing for me, I lose these capabilities.
I crumble at every criticism. I’m easily destroyed by thoughtless and baseless remarks. And I excavate my own limbo.
Here I am again, forced to face the darkness within. It kept whispering that now’s the perfect time to end it, because now’s the time I can no longer escape.
It amazes me how sensible and sound I seem despite the fact that I’m contemplating suicide now. Maybe it’s become easier for me to deal with the thought. The execution is what’s impeding the end.
I would wish to be saved but I know just how absurd and idiotic that is. You cannot be saved, the same way you cannot save people.
I’m pretending I don’t hear the voices anymore. I’m playing deaf. Regardless of that I’m falling back off the abyssal limbo I never thought I’d escape. And I’m beginning to think that maybe I never got out of it in the first place.
I think now’s a good time to die, my man up there. I already saw Mom and embraced her. That’s enough.
Enough. Enough of this life. I don’t want it anymore. Take me now. I don’t want to be here anymore. Get me out of here.
If dying is the only way out here, I would gladly kill myself.