My name is Gloria Ambrosius Costeau, and I'm a suicide note addict. It's a problem I can't overcome but by surrendering myself to G.O.D. In all seriousness though, I am addicted to writing suicide notes. I write them all the time, probably two a year, at least. There's something strangely comforting in "refreshing my vows" to those who I know will one day survive me. There's something about it that makes the ideation comfortable. As long as I keep writing them, and the situation doesn't change too much, I'll always be able to flee from this terrible world any time I want to. I'll always be able to say "NO MORE." Today I find myself with that familiar itch.
I heard someone say that working with hospice is nice because they unload all of their thoughts, their whole life into something else and that makes them feel better about dying. By creating this digital phylactery have I too become in touch with the undeath that preculdes me from the afterlife? Is this blog a great work of necromancy meant to give me immortality in the form a rotting corpse? I hunger for finality. I crave that last note to write. I think about the note I already posted and oh no, that won't do. I won't kill myself with pills to be normal for her, no I'd kill myself for something worth a damn, like my own self gratification. I'd kill myself for ME.
Finally, an end to the bitter, whiny, whinging of a child who thinks it is selfless to die for everyone else's sake. When I was a child, I reasoned like a child... when I grew up I did away with childish things. This spiteful, hate-filled letter I crave cannot be created. It is why I have not blogged in several days. The ONLY thing I can think about is this. All other things fail to compare to this singular moment in which I may finally rid myself of me. It is through sheer concentrated will that I have not written on it. Writing has become reflexive. It doesn't take any effort to conjure a post on something I'm thinking about anymore, but that last letter, which may finally be the one that does me in, cannot be materialized or else I will go through with this temporary urge.
This urge is so temporary too, I can feel it. I've done everything right. I'm eating good, I'm walking around, I'm exercising, I'm not listening to sad music, I'm not doing that many drugs, I'm trying to talk to people all the time, I'm drinking my water, I'm taking my showers, I'm doing everything I can to not have a shit life in this moment, and it just DOESN'T work out. There's nothing behavioral about this, there's nothing that I could be doing better, I'm simply being poisoned from my brain, inside out. I've survived being drunk and suicidal before, I can survive this. Just sleep it off, don't tell anyone they can have any of your stuff. A kobold's hoard is important, it's the first step to becoming a dragon, believing you can be. Just sleep it off, don't say anything too wrong to anyone anymore. Just sleep it off, keep sleeping day after day. Keep sleeping so much you can't drive anywhere. Just sleep and sleep because that's what I want. I don't want to be awake for this, I don't really care if that means I die or if I sleep, but it is temporary. It will always be temporary. First Law of Emo-dynamics: Pleasure cannot be created or destroyed, it simply changes form. We're building potential right now, and I won't let it go to waste.