I hope you brought your umbrella
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This past Saturday was my birthday, and with it, I was hoping some new wisdom or strength. Instead, as soon as I got home from an incredible night with my favourite people, I texted Jean, lamenting why he didn’t want me. When he confirmed for the millionth time that I am nothing to him, my drunken mess of a self downed a handful of muscle relaxants and pain killers. I hoped that even though there weren’t as many pills as I would have liked, the combination of them and the booze might stop my breathing enough to kill me. It wasn’t the most well thought out plan, but at the moment, I was too drunk to put thought into anything but ending my mounting sadness and loneliness. In the end, I only ended up waking up an hour later and puking my guts out for hours, until my entire body ached and my stomach felt like it was being torn from my insides, and I took a cab to the hospital to get my stomach pumped. I was too messed up to even realize what was happening.

Hours later, I woke up in bed. I blinked and held back a sob. I was alive. It was the single biggest disappointment of my 24 years. Still alive, when I was so sick of living. I was alone, with no one to reach out to. PLFB is off with her boyfriend and couldn’t care less about what’s happening here, Guiness is no longer talking to me, Jean wants nothing to do with me, and I didn’t want to bother Holly with any more of my problems. My already aching body was racked with unrelenting tears that came from the core of my soul.

To be 24 and so full of self-loathing is asinine, especially when my life is so easy compared to millions of people. That guilt eats away at me too. Who am I to be so depressed? I’m not living in a slum in India. I’m not a sex worker in Thailand. I’m not a sick person in America with no health care. I’m a middle-class white girl with so much going for me, and I want more than anything for it to all end.

What am I going to do when I get back to school and have no one to talk to? Two more years of crushing loneliness. Living alone has been terrible and fantastic for the same reasons. It’s so nice to come home to a quiet apartment with no one to talk to, but it’s also awful to have no one to talk to when I need someone. I miss Brain and HBan so much. I miss the friendship we use to have.

I hate that my stupid drunken suicide attempt didn’t work. I also hate to think of the impact it would have had on my family and friends if it had worked out. I wish I could cut out all the empathy and guilt from my body, and just be a callous, cold person who didn’t give a shit about anyone but myself. Then I wouldn’t worry about anyone left behind in the wake of my passing. I could just focus on myself and my own issues, instead of worrying about making someone else sad. I am sad. And I feel too guilty to tell anyone about it.

It’s so hard to pretend nothing is wrong. I wish I didn’t wake up on Sunday. Now every waking moment is spent kicking myself for being such a failure I couldn’t get my death right twice now. I wish will was enough, because if it was, I would have been gone so long ago.

Ashley @ 3:54 AM

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