Almost a year ago now, I decided I’m not going to kill myself. It wasn’t that I was planning to in the first place, but there have definitely been times when I’ve come close. It’s lived in the back of my mind for years, the comforting possibility of exit.
Barring illness or accident or a nuke falling on my head, I’m going to be here to turn 21, 25, 30. I’m going to be here.
This is the problem. I wasn’t planning on being here. I think maybe I was waiting to feel like someone else before I could start living, and now that I’ve accepted that that isn’t going to happen, I’m at a loss. There’s not much to be said about it at this point. Deciding to stay doesn’t make being here any more bearable. Most days I feel so devoid of anything. Energy. Interest. Value. Sometimes it’s like I’m not even here. Just a body skimming across the surface of a life. What is it that I want?
Things I would like to do in my life:
Publish poetry
Go to a concert
Make a painting
Have a safe home
Make a real friend
Find God
Travel China
Song of the day: Janie - Ethel Cain