I have suicidal thoughts on a daily basis. I have had them for a very long time. Since my childhood. I’m 24 almost 25 now. I’m surprised I made it this far. I really don’t think I’m going to make it this year.
All I see in the mirror is a shell. Waiting to crumble. Death is the great unknown, the last frontier. A journey everyone takes and never comes back.

When I seeked help and refuge within “religion” I listened. The pain and depravity I felt seemingly disapated. It only drug me down even deeper into my own dispair. “God” was only a bandage. They bible offered a resolution, but it was all fairy tales for the disenfranchised and the deluded. I was both. The pain came back, the same. No matter how much I prayed, no matter how much faith I held or how often I went to church.

When I seeked help and refuge from someone who became a mentor and a friend for me(he was actually my drug dealer(pot)), they told me it was all in my head. Pretty much told me to s*** it up. I listened. Took his advice. Everybody is bipolar, everyone has PTSD, everybody is no different from you. I took solace in that, maybe, just maybe it IS ALL IN MY HEAD. My pot dealer convinced me to to stop smoking weed and then join the military. fastfotward the military found out about my psychiatric history, because of my time in foster care. all that time wasted. Right back to square one. No better than when I enlisted.

Let’s talk foster care, I spent 16+ years as a ward of the state. In environments that conditioned me to the prison environment. In some sick way, as much as I hated my time in foster care, I miss it. I didn’t not know why or how. I just do. Maybe it was simpler than now.

It costs so much to live on this planet. Why must I pay to make someone else’s life better than mine? I often have a recurring fantasy of dousing myself in gasoline I font of my childhood home call DCFS and stricking a match.

But it’s all in my head. I’m not crazy. I’m not on the edge. I don’t have any problems. I should be thankful. Grateful even. I shouldn’t be cynical. I live in the greatest country in The world. I pay my taxes. Those big wigs the past generations elected eat meals that cost more than what I make in a month. There luggage costs more than what I make in a month. When I was a child I carried all of my belongings in a trash bag like a b**. These are pillars of the community.

How dare I.

I got a bullet with my name on it. I don’t think I’m going to make it. We’re gunna let God sort this one out.