Dark Words

Dark Words


I can’t breathe.  Every thing and every thought hurts.  The effort to speak exhausts me.  The will to move escapes me.  I am living alone on a dark planet; and I can’t leave.

Almost 10 years of psychiatrists, therapists, hospital stays, extended outpatient therapy, vitamins, exercise, UV lighting, pills, patches, yoga, meditation, acupuncture, and affirmations…but nothing works.

I have been fired from more jobs than I can remember, simply because I cannot get out of bed to attend them.

I am lethargic beyond words.  I have tried to put it into thoughts, this lack of will to survive.  My inability to thrive.  I cannot even function.  This is no lie.

I am overwhelmed by grocery stores.  Intimidated by telephone calls.  My mail goes unread.  My Yahoo! inbox…who cares???  

I dream of guns and ammo.  
I dream of cremation.  
I dream of jumping off tall buildings in a single bound!  

I dream of blood and pills.  
I dream of places where I never have to move, or think, or do anything at all.  

I dream of dark words, sent on dark wings.  
I dream of all the places, others dare not speak.

I am tired of it all.  
I feel like I have tried it all.  
Nothing works.  
Nothing matters.  
I have no one close…but that is just more sad chatter.

I hate my family for never giving me what I needed.  

I hate myself for never finding what I needed.

I hate this world for creating in me, a need that can never be filled.  Not by any man, or job, friend, family, adventure, or…well you get the picture.

I hate most of all that I am a failure.  I have been knocked down so many times, but I don’t want to get up again.  It is beyond measure.

I can’t bear another rejection.  
I can’t stand not measuring up.  
I can’t tolerate being hated anymore.  

I simply can’t endure the pressure.  

Of fitting in.  

Of pretending to care.  

Of being different.

Of being right.  

Of being wrong.  

Of wanting something different.  

Of wanting nothing at all.

Of wanting to sleep.

Of hating people.

Of hating life.

So, why am I still here?  Cause of my kitties, right?

Suicide use to be noble.  
Now some call it just crazy.  
Or worse… speak that it is a sin.  
A violation of some unenforceable law, someone has broken again.

What about heaven, nirvana, or just plain reincarnation?
No thoughts of a hell will ever escape me; Merely Dante’s fiction believed by the real nut cases.  
I disregard all such myths, with my atheist persuasion.

I dream of guns and ammo.  
I dream of cremation.  
I dream of jumping off tall buildings in a single bound!  

I dream of blood and pills.  
I dream of places where I never have to move, or think, or do anything at all.  

I dream of dark words, sent on dark wings.  
I dream of all the places, others dare not speak.