I haven’t written in a while. I haven’t really had the energy or in the interest.
Whenever I do write, I usually use a “poetic” or slightly rhythmic prose.
Today you ( whoever might be reading this ) gets the straight forward truth.
Sunday, December 17th, 2017, at 11:30 pm I tied a rope around a tree outside my tiny little studio apartment and I tried to hang myself.
No, not try. I did.
I hung myself.
I finally had enough of the constant pain and sadness and regret and guilt and sorrow …being called a sociopath and a narcissist and a manipulator and every other weight I’ve been carrying around this past year. I finally reached the end. Finally had enough. Finally got to the point where no amount of unwanted “it gets better” solicitations made any difference whatsoever.
I didn’t want to hear it.
I didn’t care.
Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
But what the fuck constitutes temporary anyway?
Temporary is meaningless if you don’t have the strength or the fucking will to see it through. Then temporary is permanent.
So I went on Youtube, watched a video on how to tie a hangman’s noose and then did what I should have fucking done months ago.
But just like everything else I’ve tried to do lately, my timing was awful.
I didn’t take into account that Suzanne was watching everything I was doing.
Suzanne is the woman who just moved in upstairs from me.
Nice woman. I’d say late 40’s / early 50’s. Of course she’s a fucking nurse.
She watched my every move.
Saw me throw the rope over the branch. Saw me tie it off.
Saw me move the outdoor bar stool into position, saw me tighten the noose around my neck and screamed “STOP” just as I jumped.
For such a small woman she sure has a lot of upper body strength.
She ran downstairs, grabbed my legs and held me up while screaming for her boyfriend.
After some kicking and flailing and more screaming, they cut me down.
By this time the homeowner Greg also had come outside to see what all the commotion was.
I sat there on the ground with the remnants of the rope around my neck not saying a word. What would I have said in that moment anyway? “Opps, I slipped”?
Greg wanted to call the cops. Suzanne wanted to call an ambulance and all I said was “please don’t”.
And you know why?
Not because I didn’t need or want help.
Obviously I did.
But because the one person I’ve been trying to talk to since fucking June would hear this story and think “He’s at it again with his lies and bullshit. Look, another lame cry for attention”. She would think I set this whole thing up like some goddamn fucking performance and you would all be the unwitting audience. A play you had no idea you were attending.
Just another thing I can’t do right.
And the worst part is, I can’t really blame her.
So stuck somewhere between trying to make amends and trying to let things go, I find myself here. Begging for a crumb of attention, not wanting to be a burden, desperate for 5 minutes, angry for being ignored, guilty for what I’ve done, hurt for being tortured, remorseful for my actions, done trying to fix things but committed to never giving up.
So what now?
Where do I go from here?
I don’t want to live but I can’t even fucking kill myself.
So I ask again….what now?