Feeling better...

Some mornings I wake up and find that the atmosphere is made of molasses. My limbs fight against the weight of this invisible, debilatating syrup. All I want on those days is to go back to sleep. I pine for my pillows like a fish pines for water. On those days to sleep is to be able to breathe. This particular morning I did not even wake up. No, I'm not still dreaming, however, at this point in time, I rule NOTHING out as a possibility. The truth is , I've been awake for two days. Odd behavior, I realize, for someone who isn't hopped up on crack, or completely fucking batshit...But that's my way...sleep for 3 or 4 days, then get up and plow through two or three on the sleep I've stockpiled. By the time I go back into hibernation, I'm running on fumes...hell, sometimes I run on the fumes of those around me.
I work for myself, (which generally translates into, hardly at all...) It affords me the freedom to kill myself slowly. In a manner befitting any true, dignified coward. I've tried pills...and that's really the ONLY way a coward such as myself would be able to off themselves. Pills...just go to sleep, nice and easy. No mess. No holes in the ceiling. But the fact of the matter is...rarely are pills as effective, efficiant, or as painless as we cowards imagine or hope. The reality is that most cowards, myself included, have no idea how to properly ingest the pills, or even how many to take. I've taken pills that I hadn't the slightest clue what they even WERE. Let alone the proper dose for euthanizing myself, or what to expect after eating 40 of them. I just kept imagining my throat closing, swelling shut in reaction to some unpronouncable teeny tiny pills. And thinking that at the last minute, I'd not only be a coward, but a coward who regrets their final act even more than they regretted their life. You cannot predict how you'll react to an overdose, you may have a previously undetected allergy. Imagine those final seconds, or minutes, if life deals you an equally bad hand in death as it must have in life, those last, panicky thoughts...KNOWING that a gun, or a skyscraper, or suicide by cop even, would have been better. The coward was wrong as in now scared to...well...ha ha, death. Another thing we cowards don't consider...at least, we TRY not to consider...is the vomiting usually caused by an overdose of anything. I can't THINK of a way to die, that's any or much worse than drowning on my own puke. So....the pill idea was fleeting. I often think what a shame it is that I'm as bright as I am. To be ignorant, or just plain stupid, might be the perfect solution. When you're too dumb to know any better, the consequenses don't get to you BEFORE they actually occur. Us bright folk have a pesky habit of knowing what will happen if we do certain things, and actually having the GALL to aknowledge it conciously!!!
That's the mechanism at work when we refer to the 'survival instinct'. To me...it's not an instinct....it's a damn curse that I can't just do things willy nilly and consequences schmoncequences. NOOOOO....I have to be frigging smart enough to KNOW better. " You should KNOW better" Those words always inspired murderous anger in me when my mother spoke them. Granted, one of the other things she always said was "If you had a fucking brain, it would sue you for non support!" If I didn't have one...maybe I wouldn't loathe you as I do. What the hell did she know? Well mom, are ya HAPPY now? I DO know better god dammit, and I don't like it one little bit. Why didn't you tell me that 'knowing' comes at a huge price. That in 'knowing' lies all sorts of emotional landmines that the idiots never have to traverse. It's unfair that I would require a lobotomy to acheive the same peace as the basket weavers and solo talkers of the world. I used to lie to myself...flattery, really. I tried to tell myself that there must be a REASON that I'm here. A REASON for me NOT to die...but I've finally accepted that as pure cow poopie.
Maybe THAT was my survival instinct at work, making an attempt to save me from myself.
So how does one kill themselves slowly, you wonder? Don't worry...I can't give any advice that will rid the world of cowards with forsight. And I don't even BELEIVE that I'm dying, really. It merely feels that way at times. Perhaps I've wanted it so bad, that now I'm simly trying to will it into being true. Perhaps that morning molasses is all the work of my mind. Trying to reassure itself that yes, I AM dying. No need for pill popping. Don't go angering the law in hopes they'll just whack you. Nope. You're dying right now...can't breathe, can't think straight, can hardly STAND or keep...my eyes....open.
But that only lasts a few days, then life interferes with my self delusion./ Interrupting with trivial things like hunger, and ohhh..urination. So I get up, I pee, and I eat, and I do laundry, and I work, when I have to. And most of the time, I'm really not unhappy. I've gotten SO GOOD at pushing down anything negative, that most days go off without a hitch. But it's the leaks in my basement that get me. The movers aren't doing something right, cause' I sometimes get a whiff of the mold down there, and I imagine I can hear the sound of the worms as they squirm in the dirt.. I feel like such an enigma, but I'm certain that it's just more flattery and that I'm downright normal. But how, I ask myself, can I, how can ANYONE go on KNOWING that those things are lurking down there? That they've always been there...hiding in your basement, in the dark. Then something will literally SHIFT inside me... way down deep, in the basement, and those thoughts just flutter away like tissue in a breeze. But I KNOW better. They don't go anywhere but down, and they won't go away, and they won't let me die. And a part of me KNOWS that by recording these very words, that I'm helping those dronesd in the basement. That I might as well take a pic axe in my hand, and start chipping away at the foundation of me. The basement is drafty, and I, in all my wisdom( hope the sarcasm was good for a chuckle) have deigned it acceptable to make even more holes. More passages that could ferry any number of stomach turners up, into my conscious mind. And that's a BAD bad thing folks...That might make me NOT want to die. That might make sleep more of a function, as opposed to a sanctuary. That might, after some struggle with the small issue of my head exploding, make me feel BETTER. WHOA...quite a proposal for a coward. We cowards are frightened of everything. But we are MOST frightened of NEW EXPERIENCES. And feeling better would CERTAINLY be that......