It is three days before my birthday and all I can think about is how much of a failure my life has become. My mom is currently sitting ten feet away from me talking happily on the phone to whom I can only assume to be her new “friend”–boyfriend, that is. It doesn’t help that she disregards my existence here, and continues her conversation over speaker phone. I guess it’s my fault, or my parents like to manipulate me into thinking the situation is my fault. I’m referring to the recent let down of having to leave school three days before classes start.
I should’ve known going away to college was too good to be true. Meeting people of my own age and understanding, discovering new things about myself, being free from the manic that is my dysfunctional family. But no matter what I do or wish for, I can’t escape them. Hell, the reason for this incident is that I was dependent on them in the first place. I’m pissed and distraught. My dad, after promising he was going to pay last quarter’s bill, has refused. He spent much, if not all, of my six-week break claiming he would just for him to tell me he doesn’t have a reason to shell out cash to me. As if I’m just some random needy prick begging for a hand out. I don’t see him complain about buying hundreds of dollars worth of video games for my brothers.
So it’s three days before my birthday and three days before classes are supposed to start, and I’m having a hard time breaking it to my new friends who have been planning my party for weeks now. I thought about killing myself rather than face that heartbreak and humiliation. But actually, I’ve been thinking of killing myself a lot more lately. The only reason I haven’t done so yet is because I’m waiting to see if it actually does get better. So far it has not. I don’t think things get better at all; I think life throws comfortable moments at me to trick myself into thinking life’s improving when in reality the comfort is supposed to be normality.
My mom is off the phone now. But rather than address my being she’s allowed herself to re-watch episodes of Criminal Minds. Ironic. I still can’t see how she had time to spend talking to her boyfriend when she told me hours before that we’d talk about the situation (only to brush me off and leave me on the back burner). I shouldn’t be surprised. That’s just how she is. No matter what, her wants always come first.
Another reason I haven’t offed myself yet is because I haven’t found a possible way to die gracefully. Can’t drown myself because I know I’ll surface. The idea of bleeding out just isn’t appealing. I could overdose on painkillers, but I’d have to have an abundance of painkillers. Suicide isn’t as easy as they portray it in the media. You can’t even google it seriously without the suicide hotline number flashing in your face. I’d call the number but I’d rather there services actually save a life than be used to hear me complain about mine. And sometimes I convince myself that I don’t want to die because if I did, I’d already be dead. I wouldn’t be making excuses; I would be acting upon it. But it’s not that I want to die–I just don’t want to live.
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