and it hasn’t gotten better

And it won’t. Ever. I’ve known that for a while. I ran out of hope a long time ago. My health, physical and mental, and my situation continued to go downhill barely without pausing and never improving. I’m not going to waste the energy to explain everything because there isn’t a point. I’ll just say that it started earlier this year when my mom met that jackass down at the bar, started going out drinking every night until early in the morning, and practically living with a guy she barely knew. About a week ago she either was fired from her job or quit. She’s going on 50 years old, but she’s as irresponsible as ever. Though nothing could top the most irresponsible, selfish thing she ever did, which was having me. My great aunt Cynthia said I could live with her, but that won’t work. I’ve lived and stayed with her several times before because of my irresponsible mother (like when she left me with her and moved across the country to live with her boyfriend, who she had split up with and moved back half a year before, that wasn’t the first or last time she did that). She doesn’t have cable, internet, or air conditioning, and while it may sound, I don’t know, superficial, I actually have very little. I don’t own a cell phone, ipod, or video games, I get new clothes and shoes once every couple of years. I already lost food, all I have is television and internet (and with it my manga and anime), without them I really have nothing left. Cynthia is also quite old, and while I don’t like to think about it, I don’t know how much time she has left. I would gladly take her place and all her ailments. There are other reasons as well. I did hope that I would die on my own. Now I see that’s not going to happen any time soon, and I don’t have the option to wait any longer. I’ve known for years that I would die young, but like I was wishing I’d die on my own, or at least end up where an opportunity (in the form of a tall building) would present itself. Jumping is my method of choice, it and gun are the best. They’re the quickest, least painful, and have the best success rate. Slitting and ingesting are the worst, and unfortunately the only options I have. I did start crying when my mom called to tell me she was finally going to destroy me completely, I did my best to hide it from her. I try to never cry in front of other people. It’s weak. If pandas had red around their eyes instead of black, that’s what I’d look like right now, so many veins burst. It’s not the dying part that I find sad, I accepted it a long time ago so the idea is calming. It’s the method. If there was a building around here I would have happily jumped off it years ago. I tried to think of some way I could jump, and came up with a couple ideas but I’m really not sure how high they are. I remember walking by one place and thinking “wow you could kill yourself if you jumped from here” but it has a tall fence around it, precisely for that reason (I think someone actually did jump from there). So not only would I have to walk there in the middle of the night, but either cut the fence, or climb the it and drop myself off from there. Not very practical or as nice as simply stretching your arms our like a bird and falling. I don’t have it in me to cut myself open. So the only choice left is to drink as much of the bottle of liquid prozac I have and hope for the best. It expired in April so it’s not as strong, and seizures are one of the side effects of overdosing, which is why I didn’t do it earlier. I should never have read the side effects. That’s why I’m so upset (that and I’m so furious at my mother). I could end up having a seizure, or just throwing the crap up, and my attempt is wasted. All I want to do is die, this should be easier. People die all the time. People who want to live too. I want to die but still continue on pathetically. I watched a documentary the other day called Boy Interrupted, about a bipolar teen who killed himself. I do watch them occasionally, docs on suicide, and since I’ve been my most death wishing ever recently I did. When he was little he said he wished he’d get cancer, which is something I think a lot. Lot’s of people who want to live get cancer, why don’t I get it instead of one of them? Spare someone who deserves to live and give it to someone who doesn’t. I would have gladly had pancreatic cancer in place of my precious grandmother. Those docs are always full of such annoying people. They all go “how could someone do something like this” and I’m thinking “I’m so jealous.” He’s lucky he’s dead, he got what he wanted. Be happy that his suffering is over. Everyone’s all about preventing suicide. People should mind their own business, even if they are related. As long as it doesn’t interfere with anyone else, a persons life is their own to do what they want with, and it’s completely within their rights to end it. Anyone who has I don’t pity. I congratulate and envy them. They escaped. Cynthia said she might take me out tomorrow, to CVS and to Eat n Park. If she does I’ll eat all my chicken and get dessert no matter how I feel. And I’ll get chocolate at CVS and eat it all too. I’ll finish catching up with my Good Housekeeping and Ladies Home Journal, I’ll watch my beloved Code Geass and my darling Junjou Romantica. And try to just enjoy that. So I’ll drink my prozac when I’m completely exhausted so hopefully I’ll be able to fall asleep right after (I know it’s not like overdosing on sleeping pills) and I’ll hope for the best and a merciful ending, or at the very least an ending. If I’m not on by the end of July it means I’ve done it, if I come on before then (not counting the next few days) it means it either didn’t work, or I’m a pathetic coward and still looking for that tall building (why couldn’t we have lived in a big apartment building, then this would be so easy).