closet case

when i was 15, i thought constantly of death. it wasn't that i was fascinated with the dead or corpses or funerals. i just didn't want to be here anymore. here anywhere in any sort of living form. i think i could have handled the life as a spirit haunting my mourning relatives and hanging out with kurt cobain. i was just exhausted and i wanted out.

"i'll do it mom, i'll do it." i never followed through with my threats.

then high school ended and everything seemed too neatly wrapped up. nothing really made anymore sense but i didn't feel the same heavy weight on my shoulders.

then last year, things blew up. i couldn't figure out what i was doing or where i was going. literally, i felt like i was stuck in that sandy beach with the huge black and white snakes from Beetlejuice. there was no way out, except bleeding for hours on a tiled floor. i always knew i'd use pills if i'd ever gone through with it, but there was something so much more romantic about slit wrists and a long flowing white nightgown spread out like wings around me on the bathroom floor where i knew someone would find me. anybody.

i remember wanting to see the reaction on their faces. i think i wanted that more than anything. just a reaction. to something. to me.

now, even though i don't think about it in the same way, i still wonder what it would be like. to be cold. 
¶ 6:32 AM |