It's over. My suicide novel lol.
I'm out of time. Out of money, sanity, energy compassion, everything. It's kind of amazing that I made it to my mid 30s considering how my life has been since the very beginning. Especially the past few years with all of the painful things covert groups of people have purposefully and shamelessly put me through, which ultimately killed me more than anything else, despite my cries for them to really think about what they do. They never stopped driving the knife in my back deeper and deeper. I wanted the whole to be better for you as much as me. I really did. Still do, till my last breath.
I was born in a cult as a result of organized rape (FLDS, super mormons basically) to parents and siblings devoid of love and resources. Never really had the basic necessities. Apostasized around 5 years old. Escaped at 18 just to figure out over time that the larger cult known as society is no better.
My older sister is one of the few who tried to love me for a little while, helping raise me and all, but in the end she too never really knew what love is and had it all backwards. It's a miracle that I was able to figure out what love really is at the end of my life (to some degree at least), love for myself and truth. I had to be alone to figure it out, away from people's abuse and gaslighting.. But this world, the people in it, punish those who do figure love out and advocate for it. Real love I mean, not the performative kind. Being forced into submitting to being a cog in this abusive society is not love. I know all about what love isn't.
Things never got better for me. They gradually got worse, even though I thought I'd already hit rock bottom. It can somehow always get even worse. That's a part of why I want to be kind to myself by ending it before I'm homeless. My early 20s working 2 jobs was the closest I ever was to having what I needed. Even in the end my voice was silenced, like it was thousands of times before. I maybe stupidly hope this last ditch effort post won't be too.
I tried so hard, fought so fucking hard. It might not look that way from the outside, but I know everything I've been through, and everyone has their limits. My reserves are depletes.
It's just so lonely and downright tragic being the only one who ever really cared about me. People tried so hard to make me not care about myself and the truth, but I held on until the end. Didn't get many years of loving myself either, only recently learned how to do that, but I'll take what I can get. I think many people don't get a single day of love in this completely fucked up society. It's not the world either that's so giddamn tragic, it's people. Human beings. It's incredible and so very sad that my own species is like this. I never was able to understand why, even though there's not a day of my life that I didn't try to understand. I don't think there even is a reason. That might be the worst part.
I took 120 mg of oxycodone tonight, so my mind isn't all here. Getting harder to keep my vision focused and not blurry. My mind has been slowly chipped away over the past 5 years anyway, almost died a handful of times during that period including from sepsis. I've lost a lot of myself and my potential. Kind of dead already, and I've been painfully aware every step of the way. I had a lot more than 120 mg of oxy too, but I stupidly held onto hope and was weak and used the rest to gradually cope my way to today. For no real reason.
For a while spite kept me going, and a need for revenge, which a part of me still wants. I shouldn't just allow myself to be collectively killed by this sick society and the people that make it, including me in the past and still today in some ways I can't escape. The children on this street and many others across North America and the world shouldn't be trafficked and abused by the same people hurting me like they are. But I'm simply too tired. I have run out of steam. And killing is easier said than done for some of us.
I really hope the strong fentanyl patches I've been holding onto for a relatively merciful death will be enough on their own. I should use them now while I still have this oxy in my system, but I'm scared and have to muster up a little bit more energy to do a few things before I go. Primarily set things up for my cats so that they will have some food and water for at least a few days while my body rots in here. I will leave both the doors on this house open too in the hopes my body is discovered sooner and my cats can get some help before they starve. I did try to handle this better for them, reached out everywhere, but no one would help me in the end, and I can't help them after I'm gone. The few people who tried to help couldn't because they are barely hanging on themselves and can't afford to, money and energy wise. I hope my cats will be ok. They are so wonderful and they mean so much to me. One of the few things in my life that almost made it feel worthwhile despite everything else.
Alongside weed, junk food, sunsets, video games, and art. Castlevania is the last show I watched, really enjoyed the first 2 seasons. I wanted to play Final Fantasy 7 Remake part 3 (even though the original game is way better). Vincent Valentine and Cid Highwind are some my favorite characters ever, and I bet they will look so fucking cool when you get to fight with them in part 3. I especially wanted to see their synergy attacks because CidVin / ValenWind is my OTP. Check me out at loverofthegaze on Deviantart if you don't believe me lol.
Geeking out about escapism now, a little cringe. It's ittle things like that kept me going most of my life. A few people too, despite how god awful most of us are. I hate people because I love them, because I see potential in them. It's just usually wasted.
Jesus fuck I've written a novel. I'm going to sleep now. I hope I find the courage to use the fentanyl patches before I starve or finally get booted to the steets, seeing as this house was foreclosed on and will be auctioned off next month because I'm many many months behind on mortgage with no employment. I really did try. I tried hard. I hate begging for help, and I even did that only for it to backfire in my face and hurt me more.
That's life for you I guess. That's people for you. Thanks to anyone who spent a fraction of their life reading my suicide novel. I love hate you all and wish you well, whatever that looks like to you. Maybe a swift merciful death, maybe bettering yourself or other people or better luck. See you in the lifestream or whatever.
I was born in a cult as a result of organized rape (FLDS, super mormons basically) to parents and siblings devoid of love and resources. Never really had the basic necessities. Apostasized around 5 years old. Escaped at 18 just to figure out over time that the larger cult known as society is no better.
My older sister is one of the few who tried to love me for a little while, helping raise me and all, but in the end she too never really knew what love is and had it all backwards. It's a miracle that I was able to figure out what love really is at the end of my life (to some degree at least), love for myself and truth. I had to be alone to figure it out, away from people's abuse and gaslighting.. But this world, the people in it, punish those who do figure love out and advocate for it. Real love I mean, not the performative kind. Being forced into submitting to being a cog in this abusive society is not love. I know all about what love isn't.
Things never got better for me. They gradually got worse, even though I thought I'd already hit rock bottom. It can somehow always get even worse. That's a part of why I want to be kind to myself by ending it before I'm homeless. My early 20s working 2 jobs was the closest I ever was to having what I needed. Even in the end my voice was silenced, like it was thousands of times before. I maybe stupidly hope this last ditch effort post won't be too.
I tried so hard, fought so fucking hard. It might not look that way from the outside, but I know everything I've been through, and everyone has their limits. My reserves are depletes.
It's just so lonely and downright tragic being the only one who ever really cared about me. People tried so hard to make me not care about myself and the truth, but I held on until the end. Didn't get many years of loving myself either, only recently learned how to do that, but I'll take what I can get. I think many people don't get a single day of love in this completely fucked up society. It's not the world either that's so giddamn tragic, it's people. Human beings. It's incredible and so very sad that my own species is like this. I never was able to understand why, even though there's not a day of my life that I didn't try to understand. I don't think there even is a reason. That might be the worst part.
I took 120 mg of oxycodone tonight, so my mind isn't all here. Getting harder to keep my vision focused and not blurry. My mind has been slowly chipped away over the past 5 years anyway, almost died a handful of times during that period including from sepsis. I've lost a lot of myself and my potential. Kind of dead already, and I've been painfully aware every step of the way. I had a lot more than 120 mg of oxy too, but I stupidly held onto hope and was weak and used the rest to gradually cope my way to today. For no real reason.
For a while spite kept me going, and a need for revenge, which a part of me still wants. I shouldn't just allow myself to be collectively killed by this sick society and the people that make it, including me in the past and still today in some ways I can't escape. The children on this street and many others across North America and the world shouldn't be trafficked and abused by the same people hurting me like they are. But I'm simply too tired. I have run out of steam. And killing is easier said than done for some of us.
I really hope the strong fentanyl patches I've been holding onto for a relatively merciful death will be enough on their own. I should use them now while I still have this oxy in my system, but I'm scared and have to muster up a little bit more energy to do a few things before I go. Primarily set things up for my cats so that they will have some food and water for at least a few days while my body rots in here. I will leave both the doors on this house open too in the hopes my body is discovered sooner and my cats can get some help before they starve. I did try to handle this better for them, reached out everywhere, but no one would help me in the end, and I can't help them after I'm gone. The few people who tried to help couldn't because they are barely hanging on themselves and can't afford to, money and energy wise. I hope my cats will be ok. They are so wonderful and they mean so much to me. One of the few things in my life that almost made it feel worthwhile despite everything else.
Alongside weed, junk food, sunsets, video games, and art. Castlevania is the last show I watched, really enjoyed the first 2 seasons. I wanted to play Final Fantasy 7 Remake part 3 (even though the original game is way better). Vincent Valentine and Cid Highwind are some my favorite characters ever, and I bet they will look so fucking cool when you get to fight with them in part 3. I especially wanted to see their synergy attacks because CidVin / ValenWind is my OTP. Check me out at loverofthegaze on Deviantart if you don't believe me lol.
Geeking out about escapism now, a little cringe. It's ittle things like that kept me going most of my life. A few people too, despite how god awful most of us are. I hate people because I love them, because I see potential in them. It's just usually wasted.
Jesus fuck I've written a novel. I'm going to sleep now. I hope I find the courage to use the fentanyl patches before I starve or finally get booted to the steets, seeing as this house was foreclosed on and will be auctioned off next month because I'm many many months behind on mortgage with no employment. I really did try. I tried hard. I hate begging for help, and I even did that only for it to backfire in my face and hurt me more.
That's life for you I guess. That's people for you. Thanks to anyone who spent a fraction of their life reading my suicide novel. I love hate you all and wish you well, whatever that looks like to you. Maybe a swift merciful death, maybe bettering yourself or other people or better luck. See you in the lifestream or whatever.
