Chapter 1
August 1st, 2023
This is not a story; it isn’t fiction. This is my journal of my current life.
I decided to post it for public consumption, for a few reasons. The first; well, why the fuck not? I’ve already lost everything. Whats my pride and a little dignity, too? Secondly, I have retained just enough self-awareness to understand that I am no longer able to see my situation with any sense of reality. My perceptions are being distorted by my state of mind; I know this. Unfortunately, I am too far gone by this point to be able to change that. Which brings us to another reason to post this; the possibility that someone might read this, and offer feedback with another perception. One for which I have lost the ability to see. Barring that possibility, the final reason to open myself up for humiliation in this manner is that perhaps someone else who is suffering in a similar sense will find this missive, and know that they are not alone.
Or, more likely than all that, is the scenario in which no one at all is going to read this or give a shit what I think or say, and I will be writing to myself with each posting. Meh. Comme çi, comme ça. Ça ne me faire rien.
With the dissolution of my mental health and the gradual loss of all that has made up my existence, I have recently renewed my determined pursuit of an ending to all that aggrieves me. It is unfortunate, I suppose, that all of my efforts towards finding alternative routes towards peace have proven to be utterly, gobsmackingly fruitless. Five years, I have held on, and pursued other avenues of hope. Yet every one of them has been an utter failure; a complete waste of time. I am weary, now. I no longer posess the energy or the hope required to attempt further notions, without a guarantee in what they can deliver. I want relief; I want peace; I want this to end. And from where I sit, only one route forwards can promise me those things. It’s a steep price, yes; I’ll have to give up everything.
As in, my life itself. Since only eternal sleep can promise me everything. And really, isn’t my life already gone? This certainly isn’t living.
I just don’t know. I have some thinking to do.
And 180 days to decide.
