"Dearest... here is the heirloom passed down from my father, from my father's mother, from her mother's father... Now from me to you.... Embrace it with your short life and learn to accept, in my place, your step-father Death."
In my mind, always 34 always 34.
“this is my life. This is my body. I’m tired of the struggle, of the failure, of the helplessness, of the living alone, of the people who don’t understand, who don’t help, who only hinder. Why await the inevitable? Why struggle against the odds? Let’s stop waiting for the bad to worsen. Why wait for death to actualize itself…? It’s time to start over again…”
and I killed myself. I painted the walls and the ceilings with my internal ink. I created pools of blood on the floors of my vacant apartment on Mercer Street. I drained myself and fell unconscious sliding in the pools. I awakened and drained myself again and lost consciousness before hitting the floor. More accurately, I felt the blood drain from my head, from my tongue, a drying, a cooling and then a falling. I never took drugs, I never drank. For once I tried... For once I tried to take my life in my hands. But, I awakened and felt pain in my chest and thought about doing it again. I had to bring something to its rightful conclusion. But my father grabbed my hand. He said,
“it’s not time. You don’t know it now, but you have yet to do some things in this life. You’ve gotta let this thing go…”
I fell asleep and awakened a few hours later… to the dawn. I lifted up the phone...
For some reason I didn't "publish" this as the first writing of the blog... I controlled myself and never re-read it until today, almost 5 years later...