not a suicide note - №1
I would’ve loved to start it off as dearest but I don’t have a dearest to address. Fear not, this is not my suicide note but I feel I’m going down that road again. I miss writing so much that aches me and this life is either too hard or too hard to get used to. I don’t feel like spiraling down: I think I am establishing myself just now and I have some hopeful things coming up my way, at least I hope so. Either that or I’m too optimistic. I want to hurt someone or I want someone to hurt me so I would feel something again. I’m sick of the numbness; so sick that it breaking me apart.
I feel that I have overexposed and burned myself before even lighting myself on fire and it’s a terrible feeling when everyone knows who you are but you. I would love to look at someone’s eyes and ask him what he or she thinks about me truly. I’ve been told I’m arrogant, I’ve been told I’m a disappointment, a genius, a disaster. Is that really who I am? “Don’t answer that, it’s rhetorical”. The expression hit me from an old TV show that I used to watch as a kid.
I hope it’s the arak.
I hope it’s the fatigue.
Either way, I should stop typing and walking.