My last Live Journal Entry 2015:
(Today 5/13/2019) – It’s almost amazing to me to look back and read my last post. It’s been a little over 4 years ago and I forget how I used to feel. It’s strange, I have been writing full time for almost 4 years now, but not once have I ever taken the time to write down my own inner feelings. I feel almost scared, but perhaps it is therapeutic. My whole life I have been suicidal, I’ve never felt comfortable anywhere or in my own skin. People have always confused me and I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out how/why people think, because their logic has always seemed alien or foreign to me. I see no escape, I can not find a job. Despite being 32 years old, I dont think there is one person in this world who has a nice or kind thing to say about me – what does that say about me? I’ve always tried to act like the nicest or most polite person I could, but does that make people hate me? What does that say about people?
Yesterday I held a 12 gauge shot gun to my forehead with a crowbar an inch from the trigger. I just sat there trying to get up the nerve to pull the trigger. I don’t know why, but I am scarred to pull that trigger, even though I am even more scared to continue living on with this life. I want to pull it, but there is a sense of fear I can not explain preventing me. I feel like I want to cry all the time, but cant manage a tear.
Last year at this time I had about 3$ to my name living in a homeless shelter. By June 2018 I was literally sleeping around Central Park with people trying to kill and/or assault me. A year later I am still jobless, still broke, no friends, no money, no where to turn. This seems to be my existence for whatever it is worth and I know it, so why can’t I just pull that trigger?
I want to write about Raquel Londono. I only knew her for a brief time in my life. Maybe 2 months? We only went on 1 true date and I only got to spend maybe 2 hours a day with her in the time between -if I was lucky. Such is how our work and sleep schedules were arranged. This was nearly 7 years ago, isn’t that depressing? It’s completely illogical, but she made me feel things I have never felt before and feel like i will never feel again. Seeing her smile, just being around her made me feel almost euphoric. She consumed me and it is a feeling of comfort, happiness and peace I can not even describe – I don’t think its possible to feel the same way again. I still fantasize about her all the time, fantasize about a day when I could get a second chance to be with her again. But even I know it’s nothing more, so why cant I stop thinking about her? When I think of how she made me feel, I feel numb to any other girl I meet. There is just nothing to compare. I think it is what people mean by love at first site, but such a short blip of time in m life.
My whole life I have been suicidal. When I was a teenager I said, just wait until your 18, maybe things will change? When I was 18 I said, wait until you loose all your weight, maybe things will change? When I was in my 20’s I said just wait until you get move or a get a job, maybe things will change? But they never have. At 32 years old, for the vast majority of my life, suicide is like a splinter wedged in my brain, impossible to remove. As my last journal entry from 2015 elludes, I can not remember the last time I felt happy. Well I can, but not recently – not since 2012. When I look back at my life and ask myself, what was the happiest time in your life? My mind goes to my first date with Raquel, when she was sitting on my lap at the bar surrounded by all our friends. I’ve never felt more at peace with my life in that moment, it’s the happy place I go to in my mind when I need a retreat. But what does it matter now?
What waits for us after death? Is there anything, or just blank emptiness? All religions say it is a sin to commit suicide, I think this is what frightens me. The off chance that, even after a lifetime of misery and loneliness, that I would still be punished for an eternity for ending the life I despise. I honestly can not think or anything more bleak or soul crushing, and I think this is the only reason I am still alive. The thought that suicide might make my existence worse than it is right now – an even more depressing thought.
I do not believe in God anymore, not with what the US Government and Global elite is capable of – what they do to people all over the world and what they are doing to me. If God did exist, how could he let this happen? If god does exist, then I agree with Pope Benedict, and God is surely just sleeping. But that’s also it, with everything I’ve seen an know, I know it is impossible to change it, impossible to stop it. What good is knowledge if you are the only one who knows it? King Solomon was right, the greater my wisdom the greater my grief, to increase knowledge only increases sorrow. The more I know, the bleaker humanity looks.
I don’t know what it takes to be happy. I do not know how to enjoy the same things as everyone else. I just don’t know.
I dont write this here today as some desperate cry for help. I dont write this because I want sympathy or people to feel bad for me. I’ve never written anything like this before, so I thought I would share. My mind is distracted and I dont know what to think and who knows, maybe someone else can identify with this in some way?
I haven’t talked to my family in years and it’s nothing personal – necessarily. I just dont know what to think of them and know they cant help me even if they wanted to. My mother is still addicted to drugs and alcohol, and reminds me of everything I have to feel shameful about every conversation we have. About being poor, in debt, no job, bad teeth, no health insurance, single – etc. My dad is a good guy in spirit, but has nothing. I don’t have any animosity towards him, it just makes me feel depressed to talk to him. My sister is just wild, on drugs, addicted to physically abusive relationships, mentally unstable and honestly a racist to boot. We just have nothing in common, and the same could be said with anyone else in my family. I have never felt like I belonged in the same room or conversations with any of them my entire life. Now that I am 32, I just stopped talking to them entirely – it just doesn’t make me feel good. I feel like I owe them an explanation, but I just dont want to give it to them. I wish all of them well, it just doesn’t feel right to talk to them. Even less and less so the longer time passes.
It makes me wonder about having a family and what might change. My mother once told me she got married to a man because he had a house, nothing more than that really – which is why she divorced him when we got older. She married him to put me and my sister in a house, just think about that. I cant possibly fathom living a life or lie like that, and wouldnt want to – never mind for years. I understand the sacrifice that might take, but it just feels so aweful to me. For no one other than herself.
I cant think of anything more to write right now, so I guess i will just leave it here.