Thoughts of suicide. Tiny ones, but noticeable.

I may be in twenty places right now emotionally, but at least I am fucking alive. I am not dead. I am not fucking dead.
That's all you need to be alive. "Not fucking dead."

Sometimes I wish I could start over, you know, maybe I believe in reincarnation. But I doubt I'd be better off being born now than I was then. It's a silly thing to be prideful about, but it's a feeling at least.

Last Thanksgiving, I was going through a rough time in my relationship. I was lonely, he was in jail. My sister kidnapped me and took me up to Michigan. Every moment out of Indiana was like a Remeber-my-boyfriend moment. Then, when Thanksgiving came, the meal was splendid. The best I ever had. But I was sort of pissed; my mom had invited her obese-and-gastric-bypass-patient friend over, where she chewed up food only to spit it out in napkins five seconds after. It was disgusting. Six months later...she died. I feel so guilty for not wanting her or her creepy husband around, but I also feel lucky to be able to spend one last meal together with her. It was the best meal my mom and I ever made, too! I knew it was significant, at the time...just didn't know why exactly.

My grandmother passed away 2 summers ago. The funeral brought out the worst in my siblings. And by worst, I mean really bad. I just wanted to be there for my mom...but I just had to be included in everyone's stupid drama, in order to get back home! It was insane. No one seemed to care that the reason we were all together was to remember my grandmother, not fight over her belongings!

Four years ago, my dad's mom died. It was the event my mom had been waiting for ever since my little sister was born. 18 years before, she'd wanted to leave my dad...but she stayed because his mom was rich and going to die some day.

I gave up my inheritance, in exchange for a panda blanket that once adorned my grandmother's bed. Whenever I feel alone, I cover myself up and think of my grandmothers. Whenever Thanksgiving comes around, I'll probably always remember how good The Last Supper was.

And I'll always remember Joel. Remember that people are only here for a short time, and that I need to appreciate what I have with them.

When I was in middle school, one of my classmates died. When it happened, there was something like a day of mourning where classes were canceled and we all got to sit in groups and talk about him.

I walked in on a group of about a dozen kids where two girls were kind of leading a discussion along the lines of, "This was his time. We should be happy. God wanted him in heaven right now for some reason. Everyone should stop crying because it's god's will. We just don't know why god wanted him to die now. But it's a good thing. We shouldn't be sad."

I couldn't help but butt in. "It's a sad thing that he died and it's okay to feel bad. It's normal to mourn when someone that you know and like dies. You don't have to come up with excuses for why it's actually a good thing and you should be happy."

The bitch actually said back to me, "Um, [Blackbox], we're all Christian here, and we don't really care what you have to say. Why don't you go to one of the other groups or just stay quiet?"

I just shrugged, smiled, and went on a stroll through the hallways.

We live for an instant, only to be swallowed in complete forgetfulness and the void of infinite time on this side of us. Think how many ere now, after passing their life in implacable enmity, suspicion, hatred... are now dead and burnt to ashes.

Of the life of man the duration is but a point, its substance streaming away, its perception dim, the fabric of the entire body prone to decay, and the soul a vortex, and fortune incalculable, and fame uncertain. In a word all things of the body are as a river, and the things of the soul as a dream and a vapour; and life is a warfare and a pilgrim's sojourn, and fame after death is only forgetfulness. Everything existing is already disintegrating and changing... everything is by nature made but to die. The length of one's life is irrelevant, for look at the yawning gulf of time behind thee and before thee at another infinity to come. In this eternity the life of a baby of three days and the life of a Nestor of three centuries are as one.

To desire is to be permanently disappointed and disturbed, since everything we desire in this world is empty and corrupt and paltry.

- Marcus Aurelius

Is it wrong that death doesn't really bother me? My grandmother is being put down today (Really they've just stopped keeping her alive, but same difference), and I should care a lot more than I currently am.

My grandmother is the only person who has ever shown me unconditional love. In fact, she's the only person that I can be sure ever truly loved me.

Yet there I was, looking at the still-breathing body of my grandmother, tubes in her everywhere, machines beeping and buzzing all around, listening to a cardboard cutout of a chaplain giving generic last rites (Apparently they didn't have a rabbi handy, or no one cared to inform the hospital or my grandmother's synagogue that she needed one).

The whole situation sickened me, but not because my grandmother was passing. It was mostly the degradation she had to put up with in her final moments. The nurses treated her with very little respect even when taking her off support. The chaplain didn't even care to learn her name before entering the room, yet claimed as soon as he entered that "he's been thinking about us a lot", and also messed up his last rites speech a few times. You'd think he'd done it enough times to not trip up every few words.

She was 88, and it's a shame that she had to suffer the way she did. Not just in the hospital, but the later years of her life as well. Besides the medical problems and dealing with the death of everyone that you know that most elderly have to deal with, like many seniors, her family (Myself included) ignored her. To be fair, she called everyone several times a day, but was it so difficult for us to take a half hour or so out of our lives to humor a lonely old woman?

I don't want to grow old. Once either balding or erectile dysfunction kicks in, I'll promptly get my will and last requests in order, and find a peaceful way to go.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sad that my grandmother is gone. I loved her dearly, though I didn't show it as much as I could have, and should have. I know she forgave me; it's that unconditional love I mentioned before.

Anyway, I could keep going, but I've said everything I needed to. I'm just venting. Thanks, Ether.

So I went back to my old high school today, only to find out one of my friend had died. Ain't this a bitch. I just saw her about a month ago. She was fine and happy. I wish I would have talked to her longer, but we were going in opposite directions and she was on the phone. God, this fucking sucks. She was always so sweet, and nice to me. I know we weren't close, but it still hurts to know that she's dead. This is the second time I've had to deal with a friend of mine dieing at this school. I don't know if I can take much more. If I react this way to someone who I'm not close to dieing, I don't know how I'll ever deal if one of my best friends die. God this sucks.

personally, I don't fear it. it would suck to miss out on the rest of my life but as soon as I'm over I'm done and my feelings don't really come into it.

I fear one death, that of my lover. just thinking about it makes me feel sick and hollow because I know I'm so emotionally crippled, so dependent on them now for my happiness and stability that I wouldn't be able to carry on. life is a dark and meaningless place without someone to share it with, and I could never trust so completely again as I do now.

The actually idea of dieing doesn't scare me. What scares me is everyone that I care about dieing and being left alone. I have always had my family, and the thought of them not being there terrifies me. I could not deal with them dieing, but still I don't want to die before them because I don't want them to suffer. At times I think that it would be easier to just distance myself from my family so that it will be easier to accept if they die, but I know that it's impossible for me to do that. So I guess I'll just have to deal with it.

I only fear two things about death-

1.)
dying before i'm done with at least most of the things I wanted to accomplish in my life, which is admittedly a pretty variable scale so there's always room for more, but i'm flexible on this, hence why I said "at least most"

Enough anyway, that I don't feel my existence was too pointless.
I want to make some impact, i'm just not sure on how big a scale.

(I suppose that could be considered 'premature death' as another entry put it)

2.)
...and the pain you'd experience right before you feel nothing.
I know in a lot of cases, it'd be minimal. But... i'm a total, total wuss when it comes to pain tolerance and think too hard about really how much each dying method would actually feel, in graphic detail.


But the whole no more living part, or not knowing what comes after...
Those don't bother me any.



Death is just an endless sleep you never wake up from.

Afterlives are the dreams you have in this sleep.
Me, I never remember my dreams.

I don't fear death, I just fear pre-mature death. I don't want my time with anyone I love cut short. I don't want my parents to have to go through my dying before them. That's why I fear dying now.

I'm also tired now. I believe by the time I die, I'll be ready to give it up.

I don't understand why people are so upset by the prospect of death. Is it simply because they don't understand or can't anticipate what happens afterwards? Isn't that the purpose of religion? Oh well.... after my suicidal streak, I find death a friend and allie, nothing I really need to be too terribly concerned about. I am content with my life, my goals, my standings on things, my "religion" if you wish to term it thus, and I understand that I won't live forever. This, however, does not bother me. Occassionally it's better than ought else, so, whatever....

I understand loss.

When I was a freshman, my idol, a guy that I had been connected to for most of my life through other friends but had never really talked to for fear of looking like some dumb little kid, died in a car accident. A head on collision.

I went to his showing on the same night as the final night of the high school play. I couldn't walk up to the casket alone. His GRANDMOTHER led me. I had to leave the showing early for the play. I played the lead part in that play. I walked from the funeral parlor, sobbing, in hysterics, to the school. It was about a four minute walk, and the further I got from the parlor, the more hysterical I became.

By the time I reached the school, I could no longer remember my lines. During every pause in the show, the image of him in the casket, his face covered in enough makeup to make him look like a porcelain doll, popped into my mind and new tears started to spring to my eyes.

I even remember when I found out that he was dead. I was with my sister and her friends. The youngest in the group, getting to drink with people 4, 5, 6 years older than me. I remember the pot smoke made the room look foggy. I remember a friend rushing in my back door and saying, "Nick's dead." I remember we thought it was a joke. Not a funny joke, but still, a joke.

I remember when we realized it wasn't.

I remember when I got a call from Methodist Hospital the summer before my senior year. My sister had been in a car accident.

Thoughts of my friend Nick filled my head.

My sister lived, but I can't help thinking, what if she hadn't?