I prayed for three things, today.
I prayed that when the baby is born, I bleed to death. If the only future I have to look forward to is watching it slowly dawn on my daughter that her mother is a worthless, useless fuckup...why should I want to live for that? Better she should never know me. It's not that I don't want to be here for her...I do...but if there's not a hope in hell that our future can be happy...why subject her to the added misery of bearing me as her burden?
I prayed that the gods take away my music. Strike me mute. No more singing or song writing. I don't want it. Why should I? What good does it do? No one gives a good god damn. What's the point of wanting to sing, to reach others...if no one's listening?
I prayed that the gods take away the stories. No one wants those any more than they want me. I have proof - rejection after rejection from agent after agent. Why try? Why allow myself to be driven, to shape words into images that no one wants to read?
I'm tired of being pointless.
I have spent the last few hours thinking these thoughts...may as well write 'em out. No one reads them, no one cares anyway, can't hurt to put them here.
I can't kill myself. I made a promise. I have never broken my word. But I can sure want to. And I can think about how I'd do it. I can fantasize about the day my word means less to me than this emptiness.
Not a gun. Too messy. I would not like to give anyone another reason to hate me, to think me worthless, selfish...
There's always aspirin. We've got a few bottles of that around here. I can swallow a lot of pills. But no. It's been done, and it's too easy to catch and reverse...and if it fails, the results can be...unfortunate.
A razor, perhaps? I used to think that was how I'd do it. Draw up a nice warm bath. Two good slices, placed just right, and I could open up veins without touching a tendon, bleed out in minutes. It would be less mess for anyone to clean up after...just remove the carcass and rinse out the tub, no worries.
I think if I was to do it now, though...it'd be poetic. I have several vials of insulin. I could inject the entirety of one in a matter of moments...and there's nothing could be done about it, if anyone even cared to try.
Alright already...I get it. I am worth less than a damned computer game, less than addiction, less than the cat shit out in the garden. My hurt is meaningless and no one, not ONE person, gives a good god damn.
If that's not the lesson you wish me to learn, O Universe, then quite teaching it to me. The point has been driven home enough times in the last little while...I don't need any more reminders that I don't deserve to be happy and any time I begin to feel the slightest joy, I should quash it or accept that you will do so for me.
I am done chasing after people and begging them to love me. I am done believing that anyone actually does, has, or ever could. I am done forcing anyone to endure my love. No more illusion on that front, O Universe, so you can leave me alone and go pick on someone else.
I am NOT loved. I am NOT wanted. I am NOT needed. I am a fat, ugly, disgusting, slovenly, stupid, unnecessary burden to be borne, and I would do the world a favor if I simply quit foisting myself upon it. I get it. Thank you.