Traveling Show

spastasmagoria:

I’m so… miserable about that job thing. I could have done that job. I could have. I could have done it well. I have no idea why I didn’t get it. It was between me and two other people and… I didn’t get it. I just… I’m o unhappy. I hate myself for it. I hate myself for being in the situation I’m in now—unable to get a job, unemployment running out, and the whole writing thing having gone to shit as far as making money off of it. I feel like a bad person. I feel like a broken and inadequate person. 

I think a lot about just … making it better (somehow—I’m fuzzy on the specifics) and just slitting my wrists. Up and down, never across. I’m almost done with unemployment. I have a house I can’t keep. I have a car that’ll get repossessed as soon as the unemployment runs out. I have no one I can live with that will not make me insane because of various thing. 

I’m useless. completely fucking useless. that’s how it feels. I have creative things i’d like to do, but I can’t work up the energy, or get out of my own head enough to do them. Part of it is, I think about it, realize that whatever I do will probably suck. And at some point before or after that realization, I have a panic attack and never start it. I have two big secret projects I am working on, that I can’t back down from, and I”m terrified that *MY* involvement is going to be the thing that makes it suck. I hate myself and I think I suck at everything. 

I just… want to cut parts of me. I don’t know. I can’t describe it or explain it. But it seems like slitting my wrists is a viable option. I mean. Hunter S Thompson and Hemmingway opted out of life when they were done. They just… ok, done. Bye. Maybe I need to do that. There really does not seem to be any hope of things getting any better. It’ll be like flipping to the last page of the book and reading the ending. Skip the boring bits in the middle. We all die someday. Does the /when/ technically matter? I’m just… the hole of my problems just keeps getting deeper and deeper and it’s filling up with water fast. And I don’t have the spoons to deal with it. It seems like… why would you just keep dealing with heaping tons of shit until you get old and die, or get sick an die? Live fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse. 

It hurts and I’m useless and it’s not going to get better. i am too broken and worthless for anything good to happen now. everything I do is pointless.  

You are not useless.  You are clever, witty, and skilled.  You seem like an interesting person.  I hope you choose to live.  Your life is worth something.

annies-final-ri0t:

i have asperger’s and i get really stuck really easily and it annoys the fuck out of tj. i fucking hate myself. i never shut up and everyone in my town hates me.

i’m commiting tonight. i’ll never bother another soul again.

goodbye.

What you wrote on your blog, the introduction about being present to people, shows you already know the point of life.  I have been to that brink any number of times.  I have never regretted stepping back.  I will not call it a permanent solution to temporary problems.  That would be trite.  It would belie the genuine concern I feel.  It might be inaccurate.  For all I know, your problems will only end in death.  Choose carefully, though.  Many facets of life are awful.  The experience is like dancing with a bear, awful yet exhilarating.  There are good parts.  Weigh them against the bad.  Consider the chance of your situation improving.  It is only possbile if you live.  As hard as it is now, there might be a better town, a kinder friend, relation, or romantic interest than TJ.  If you die now, what could transpire before Thanksgiving will never materialize.  If any of this gives you pause, please wait.  Living is less comitted.  You can die next week.  The other choice is irreversible.  You are a caring person, not nussiance.  Someone will appreciate that even if you get stuck.  I hope it gets better.  I hope you live.  Your life has value even if no one around you sees it.

He is just some stranger in a Google group.  We got through to him.  His wish to die seems less immediate.  Still, I hate knowing someone may not be alright.