(no subject)
Because I'm completely unoriginal, and because therapists keep assigning me books to read and draw life lessons from, and because shrewd is as shrewd does, tonight I'm presenting an aziom from a book I read. I think it's an axiom. It might be an adage. I'm looking it up now b/c I'm not really smart enough to know the difference. Upon review it seems that adage is more appropriate. Regardless, it reads: don't do what you can't undo until you've considered what you can't do once you've done it.
Don't do, what you can't undo until you've considered what you can't do once you've done it. For tonight's purposes the thing that can't be undone is suicide, it's a suicide. Sabotage. For some reason whenever I think of suicide these days the Beastie Boys song Sabotage pops into my head w/ the word substituted. I dunno why, mebbe b/c it's so catchy. I'm using shorthand b/c it's late and I wanna make sure I write out what all I mean to write.
Last winter I let my supervisors at work believe they had talked me out of committing suicide when they implored me to think about how it would affect the people in my life. Honestly though, that's not much of a deterrence. I already don't talk to my parents, who have been ashamed of and disappointed by me for my entire life. At least if I were gone they'd have a reason for their son not talking to them. I'm awful, like, bad bad, at work. If I were gone they could replace me w/ someone better, faster, smarter, funnier, nicer. At present I have no real friends invovled in my life, primarily through design. And I have no purchased friends, b/c buying that stuff never works, it's always more of a rental at best. Really the only person I'd be leaving behind is my brother; and I think he'd be ok.
Last winter I said to myself that I'd give it until Nov. 11 and if things weren't better by then I'd take action. Needless to say I didn't. That's not because things are better, it's because I'm a giant wuss. The prior 4 entrees were intended as a letter to be read post-mortem. As such, I've been informed that it would've been unwelcome and inappropriate. Over the past year I've tried therapy, I've tried ignoring my problems, I've tried working through them, I've tried talking, I've tried burying myself in my work, I've tried escapist retreats into books, music, tv, video games and movies. I've considered looking for help in my past only to be confronted by a past that is as rotten as I am, and uncovered no one that I wish to inflict my rottenness upon again.
So, if I were to eliminate myself from life; what would I no longer be able to do? I wouldn't be able to write, which is no great loss, as I don't write now as it is. Even if I were to write, if I learned nothing else from the Kafka museum I learned that sometimes even people hailed as genius and revolutionary have doubts to the extent of wishing that they had never done what they were praised for. If I were no more I would lose all opportunity to find love; if it's real. I'm not completely sold on it's existence though, and even if it is real, I don't know that I'd ever be able to convince myself that I'm worthy of it. I can't imagine a woman that I could subject to the terror of being the object of my ardorous advances. Ardorous being the adverb form of ardor. Unlike Calvin, I don't just verb words, I also sometimes adverb them.
I wouldn't be able to get fit, get in shape, look good like the people on tv, or participate in Road Rules, Real World, or (my guilty pleasure) a Road Rules / Real World Challenge. None of that is very likely to happen if I retain my life. Those are the three things that I'd want though. I'd want to write, seriously. I'd want to fall in love and be loved in return. I'd want to stop living vicariously through the "reality" stars on the TV and join them in merriment. I'm using my dictionary far more than I'd like to admit, but I will admit because it's a fact that lends its self as evidence to the premise that I'm not particularly bright.
Every day I wish that I was dead. It's been that way for years, and I don't see an end in sight. It was recently confirmed to me that I've been having auditory hallucinations for years also. Years. All this time I've been crazy. What's the point of going on, what's one more crazy, more or less.
Those weren't questions, not really. If they were they'd have been punctuated differently. I worry about what my, as yet, unborn (unconceived) nieces and or nephews would think of me were I to kill myself. That's a new worry. Added to the pile of old worries.
Don't do, what you can't undo until you've considered what you can't do once you've done it. For tonight's purposes the thing that can't be undone is suicide, it's a suicide. Sabotage. For some reason whenever I think of suicide these days the Beastie Boys song Sabotage pops into my head w/ the word substituted. I dunno why, mebbe b/c it's so catchy. I'm using shorthand b/c it's late and I wanna make sure I write out what all I mean to write.
Last winter I let my supervisors at work believe they had talked me out of committing suicide when they implored me to think about how it would affect the people in my life. Honestly though, that's not much of a deterrence. I already don't talk to my parents, who have been ashamed of and disappointed by me for my entire life. At least if I were gone they'd have a reason for their son not talking to them. I'm awful, like, bad bad, at work. If I were gone they could replace me w/ someone better, faster, smarter, funnier, nicer. At present I have no real friends invovled in my life, primarily through design. And I have no purchased friends, b/c buying that stuff never works, it's always more of a rental at best. Really the only person I'd be leaving behind is my brother; and I think he'd be ok.
Last winter I said to myself that I'd give it until Nov. 11 and if things weren't better by then I'd take action. Needless to say I didn't. That's not because things are better, it's because I'm a giant wuss. The prior 4 entrees were intended as a letter to be read post-mortem. As such, I've been informed that it would've been unwelcome and inappropriate. Over the past year I've tried therapy, I've tried ignoring my problems, I've tried working through them, I've tried talking, I've tried burying myself in my work, I've tried escapist retreats into books, music, tv, video games and movies. I've considered looking for help in my past only to be confronted by a past that is as rotten as I am, and uncovered no one that I wish to inflict my rottenness upon again.
So, if I were to eliminate myself from life; what would I no longer be able to do? I wouldn't be able to write, which is no great loss, as I don't write now as it is. Even if I were to write, if I learned nothing else from the Kafka museum I learned that sometimes even people hailed as genius and revolutionary have doubts to the extent of wishing that they had never done what they were praised for. If I were no more I would lose all opportunity to find love; if it's real. I'm not completely sold on it's existence though, and even if it is real, I don't know that I'd ever be able to convince myself that I'm worthy of it. I can't imagine a woman that I could subject to the terror of being the object of my ardorous advances. Ardorous being the adverb form of ardor. Unlike Calvin, I don't just verb words, I also sometimes adverb them.
I wouldn't be able to get fit, get in shape, look good like the people on tv, or participate in Road Rules, Real World, or (my guilty pleasure) a Road Rules / Real World Challenge. None of that is very likely to happen if I retain my life. Those are the three things that I'd want though. I'd want to write, seriously. I'd want to fall in love and be loved in return. I'd want to stop living vicariously through the "reality" stars on the TV and join them in merriment. I'm using my dictionary far more than I'd like to admit, but I will admit because it's a fact that lends its self as evidence to the premise that I'm not particularly bright.
Every day I wish that I was dead. It's been that way for years, and I don't see an end in sight. It was recently confirmed to me that I've been having auditory hallucinations for years also. Years. All this time I've been crazy. What's the point of going on, what's one more crazy, more or less.
Those weren't questions, not really. If they were they'd have been punctuated differently. I worry about what my, as yet, unborn (unconceived) nieces and or nephews would think of me were I to kill myself. That's a new worry. Added to the pile of old worries.