He's thinking for me again... suicide. #BorderlineParent

As I commute to work, I wonder if I need to continue thinking about suicide… A soft-felt wish washes over me as I prepare for death. Suddenly, nothing. The light turns green and I continue forward. I guess I’ll continue thinking about suicide.

I think about killing myself a few times per day, depending on what I’m doing. The more consumed I am in a project, the less suicidal ideation and vice versa. Ever since I was little, I wanted to die. I knew this wasn’t the World for me. After the trauma, the strong feeling that there was no end; no end to my pain. I used to undo my seat belt

Ronin PDX - Faces of Portland

, while riding with my family, when we would come to a confined two-lane road or one with a cliff. I used to hold my breath in bed, thinking it would do the trick. I attempted strangulation, cutting, and pills for a nice and easy out. What becomes of a person who does this? I just don’t want to feel pain anymore. You may call me a pussy, you may call me all the names you know. It won’t change how I feel, how I cope.

This mentality bleeds into the far facets of my life. From all the lovers I’ve had, to the families who’ve taken me in, to the people who’ve shown me love. Nothing will ever change this, nothing will ever fix me. I’m destined to feel this deep & visceral pain. All I can do for you is write. So let’s begin.

My life has no meaning.

My time is a waste.

Tell me what to do

I might eat your fucking face.

The scars, both natural and hand-made, tell a tale of sadness, madness, and betrayal.

Living in my shoes, walking in my skin, you’ll be quick to understand how easy it is to fit in.

I wear you like a robe, just like I should, but I’m both a sheep and wolf

Death to those who are misunderstood.

I’m a king, a prince, a martyr, yet no one to sign next of kin.

I’m a ghost

I’m a tale

I’m a good time for people addicted to themselves.

I portray the best of Human conditioning

A sad feat I must admit,

Though don’t tell the others inside me, there are a few who would throw a fit.

The news speaks about mass suicide rates, yet the VA mental health care team told me to have a nice day. They showed me the door and I was on my way. Maybe when I blow my brains out, I’ll do it in front of them so they can see what a nice day means to a forgotten Marine.

Just days before I see my daughter, whose mother does all she can to snuff me out. I may just kill myself before they figure me out.  

Life of a Borderline.

Be near me, but don’t try to figure me out. I just might bite the barrel of my wish, and turn inside out.