TRIGGER ALERT: Jenny here. This post is full of triggers, I promise. Rory’s still in the hospital, but hand wrote this post, which I am posting on his behalf. He wrote it his first day in the hospital, before they gave him any new meds. Needless to say, he was still extremely suicidal at the time.
There is nothing quite so thrilling as thinking, “I’m going to die, and that’s okay.” It’s a relief to not give a fuck. That’s right. 0 fucks given, folks. Don’t worry. I still love all of you. I just feel like I’m finally allowed to hate myself. In fact, I encourage you all to hate me back.
Now, I’m not trying to be all emo. I just really think I deserve to be hated. I let you all down, and chased myself down the rabbit hole. I’m really not the sane, safe, boisterous person most people meet. I’m a spite-filled imp. I hate people that are happy, because they are ignorant. I hate people that are sad, because they are unappreciative.
Anyway, I have a sense of impending doom all the time. The world isn’t ending, but I’m dying. Faster, rather than slower. There is a headsman’s axe hanging by a thread over my head, waiting to pass its violent judgment. I can’t stand the anticipation. It makes me sick inside, to the point that I become physically ill.
All I want is relief. All I want is an escape. An easy button. I want the trigger of a gun, and the release my father took in my place. I want to die, even when I’m not suicidal. I want to be done. But life is hard, and I don’t get that. I’ll be back soon. loyal follower.
Pray for me?