Contemplating Suicide

I wouldn't exactly say I'm suicidal. I've entertained the thought before, to be sure, but am I? True, I tend to imagine myself lying dead in a pool of my own blood, with my wrists slit. True, I often ponder the least painful and quickest way to just end it all and be done with life. True, I have spent days on end wondering why I even bother trying to claw out a meager existence amidst the abusive capitalist empire I serve. Whether or not I'm unemployed, I tend to think of ways to just kill myself, take the coward's way out. It just so happens that I'm angrier and more prone to suicidal thought when I'm jobless.

I guess this is brought about by a wide range of factors, but first and foremost, I am simply too unwilling to go on. I mean, there's never been much to look forward to in my life. I am unemployed and with no real prospects on the horizon. As if to drive that home, my mother is shoving down job opening after job opening and job fair after job fair down my throat. Little does she realize that, really, she's not helping matters much. She and her constant pressure aren't going to help me in finding a good job that I can stick with, which is what I'm doing. What she's forcing into my life are jobs I'll work for a contract period and then leave because they don't fit me. I'm trying to find work for the long run here, so quit with the pressure already!

Of course, she won't understand any of this. All that matters to her is that I'm working, out of the house for extended periods of time, and making money that she can shove down her pockets and use to buy her bags, shoes, and clothes. And pay for her many, many luxuries and conveniences too. All while under the pretense of handling my money for me.

The fact is, employed or not, I just want to die. I have just recently lost a girl that is easily my last great love. I still have her last gifts to me, my creative spark and an idea I can work with, but those are fading fast. I've got no "great future" ahead of me, as I'm not qualified enough for any sort of position that might be considered a step closer to that. I can't pursue what I want to pursue in life because I need money and what I want to do isn't able to make money for me.

There are days (constantly increasing ever since I turned 20, mind you) when I fail to understand why I'm still here. I don't have a purpose or goal in life. I don't even have the motivation needed to pursue that goal. I can help others find their goals, achieve their dreams, and find that one special person for them. But I can't find those same things for myself. Funny, isn't it? Everyone seems to either have a better life than I do or is handling their problems better than I do. And don't give me any of that "if he can do it, so can I" bullshit because I'm not that guy who strives and succeeds under great pressure and overwhelming tragedy. I'm the guy who crumbles under the strain and accepts that his house of cards has fallen apart.

I believe people keep working and keep living because they still want something. That perfect girl to marry. That insanely large paycheck that needs to be spent. That warm smile on your lover's lips. That next big hit in the market. That first big break into the world of published authors. We all want something and we live our lives to try and grab that elusive brass ring.

Except for me. I...can't think of anything I actually want.

I write, but I don't want to get published.

I work, but only because I have no other choice.

I live, but only because I fear the prospect of death. Even as I welcome it.

Funny, now that I think about it. I guess, in some ways, I am suicidal. I want to die. I want to feel what it feels like to lose my grip on this mortal coil, to let the fire grow dim amidst the onslaught of the darkness. I want to die because there's nothing here for me. I want to die because I've never had anything to prove and I have nothing to strive for. I want to die because I feel empty and hollow. I want to die because, to be honest with you, I just want to. I have nothing and no one to live for. No goals to pursue, no dreams to make come true, no great love to hold close, no life to leave behind.

So I'm just going to laugh. Because Gods help me, I am asking to be killed.

But am I going to do it? Am I going to kill myself?

I don't know. Weird, isn't it? I want to die, but I don't want to be the one to do it. Of course, if Fate doesn't give me a break soon, I guess I won't have much of a choice, will I?

Maybe I'll drop by a karaoke bar or something. Sing Sinatra's "My Way" and get myself killed.

I always wondered why I loved that song so much. Now I know.

And now, the end is near;
And so I face the final curtain.
My friend, Ill say it clear,
Ill state my case, of which Im certain.

Ive lived a life thats full.
Ive traveled each and evry highway;
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Regrets, Ive had a few;
But then again, too few to mention.
I did what I had to do
And saw it through without exemption.

I planned each charted course;
Each careful step along the byway,
But more, much more than this,
I did it my way.

Yes, there were times, Im sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew.
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I ate it up and spit it out.
I faced it all and I stood tall;
And did it my way.

Ive loved, Ive laughed and cried.
Ive had my fill; my share of losing.
And now, as tears subside,
I find it all so amusing.

To think I did all that;
And may I say - not in a shy way,
No, oh no not me,
I did it my way.

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels;
And not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows -
And did it my way!