The Book of the Dead.

I got death in my pocket,
holding onto it like an uno reverse card,
as if I could change anything I've done now.
I need to figure out what I want my life to be, cause if
I don't I'll end up at the end of a long bottle or a needle, that's for sure.

I said I didn't want to repeat the mistakes of my parents, but I still do as they did.

I hold onto music like it's in my blood, songs and writers are my escape.

I don't know what I want to leave this world, I just know it's not me that should be heard.

There is a bigger message; there is something for the world, I just wonder how many scars it took.

For things to get better, for people to understand, that we are more than our bodies, more than our images projected outwards, it should be understood.

And how many gods died to give you this word?

That peace is more important than a dollar symbol, that unity should be the final word.

Kill my feelings,
Destroy my hate,
Eat up my sorrow,
And release my pain.

Rest my brain,
Rest my heart,
Rest this skin with its scars,
Then rest these eyes from its cries,
It seems I'll long for death all my life.

Be my death and come for me,
life bleed out all misery,
Close this throat, Release the air,
Take my life, I do not care.

My pain too deep,
I hope no more,
My love incomplete,
My darkness; it's sure.

I want nothing but to sleep,
sleep forevermore,
Inside a pine box, no windows and no doors.

Look I got up today, yes I ate, really I did.
Look I went to work, and no I'm not sore.

See I made it through the day, I didn't cry much, I didn't take a bunch of pills, or scream in your ear.

See I didn't yell, or create more fear,
now aren't you glad? You can sleep well.

It only took everything I am, and now I have more scars, just sitting here bleeding again, but yes I'm alive, aren't you glad?

Did I make everyone else's day?
Aren't you happy?
Then great!

It only hurts me living this useless existence, suffering all these triggers again.
I am the one in the dark, with a heart torn apart, but hey I'm still breathing, that's all anyone cares about.

So tired, there are no more words.
I am waiting for the ending to this sick story that is mine, hoping this is the last time I'll feel anything,
just falling into the black, detaching myself from everyone and everything, all so I don't feel anything they do to me.

But hey I'm alive, saw another birthday, and I didn't look for your call,
now aren't you glad?

I suppose I love the darkness because I have lived in it for so long. Well perhaps "love" is not quite the right word.
It is silly how many times we say that we love something, but can we really?
Anyway as I was saying;
It is a fondness yes, I am very familiar with living in the dark.
Whether it was closets or my own room, I got use to little or no lights on,
I got use to being quiet,
I got use to hiding,
I got use to being alone.

I don't believe my life will ever be anything else, so much is already final, written and done.
I am quite aware that I won't take my freedom even with the cage door open.
I am broken and have forgotten what joy was within myself as a child.

What is lost now, will not be found again.
There is no such thing as happiness, only chemicals and pretend.
I am holding my own hand, father time doesn't see his own watch.
I am dying a million different ways, I am being born a million more, I see myself making every mistake, many lifetimes flash before my eyes, all while I am looking for the one who will put this animal to sleep.

I feel like a table that everyone keeps covering up with a cloth so noone can see how ugly it is.

I'm like a bookshelf with no books.
I am like a song that nobody knows the words to.

And when the body is broken, the mind lies to keep itselfs safe.
The skin remembers, the brain pretends to forget, or it plays a song over another song; just so you can't hear the first one.

I hate myself for feeling anything at all.
I felt how I did, I survived, but I hate my feelings. I hate thinking about it. Or looking for something to cover it up again.

Like hiding my scars with bandaids, not because I think they're ugly, but because I don't want anyone to see how many I have.

(Author notes: written right before my 14th attempt at suicide.
I can say I am at least not in the same space I was that day, I don't carry the shame or guilt anymore, I know I deserve to feel good, I just don't know how. I still struggle with this sense of emptiness and lack of will.)

What do you tell someone who wants to die?
And if you feel this way, what do you tell yourself?

How can I comfort myself?
What can I tell myself that wouldn't be just make believe?

You know sometimes I want to believe the lie. Sometimes I want someone to tell me that everything is going to be alright.
But no matter how much I want to believe that, I know I am just lying to myself; in the end I know this thing is gonna kill me.

If it doesn't get my mind, it will get my heart, and if it doesn't get that, it will attack my blood.

Depression is as much apart of who I am; as my hopes and dreams were as a child.

It is tattooed to me, a scar forever, a birth mark forever marked upon my being.

I can neither live with it, nor without it.

I cannot know joy; for as soon as I do, I am filled with guilt over it.

I cannot know peace; for as soon as I do, I am filled with worry because of it.

I cannot know rest; for I am at war with living, and my very self does not want it.

So there's this little thing called major depression that keeps me from wanting to do much of...well anything.
Funny enough the more people pressure me to do things, the more I just want to stay in bed.

I'm somehow reminded of a magic 8 ball I once had.
Yeah, never make decisions based on that thing, and don't act like people can reply when you want them too.

It's hard enough to just keep myself alive, let alone do anything extra.
Kinda wish people would just hang themselves with the rope that I give them.
(Sorry, bad reference.) It use to be true though, my mother would say it all the time.
"Give someone enough rope, and they will hang themselves."

I've noticed that most of my problems tend to solve themselves if I give it enough time, or people come around and start doing what they were supposed to do in the first place. (Instead of me doing quite literally everything myself.)

I am quite too tired, fed up, exhausted, burned out, over it, done or anything else you want to call it, to do much else.
Don't know about tomorrow since I have to find a way to make it today, and I'm no weatherman but the forecast doesn't look good.





私は重度のうつ病という小さな病気を患っていて、何もしたくない気分になります。

面白いことに、人からプレッシャーをかけられるほど、ベッドから出たくなくなります。

昔持っていた魔法の8ボールを漠然と思い出します。

ええ、それに基づいて決断しないでください。そして、あなたが望むときに人々が反応してくれるかのように振る舞わないでください。

生き残るだけでも大変なのに、他のことは言うまでもありません。

私が渡したロープで人々が首を吊ってくれればいいのに。

（悪い例えですみません。）でも、それは本当でした。私の母はいつもそう言っていました。

「十分なロープを与えれば、彼らは首を吊るでしょう。」

十分な時間を与えれば、または人々がやって来て、そもそもやるべきことを始めれば、私の問題のほとんどは自然に解決する傾向があることがわかりました。 (文字通りすべてを自分でやる代わりに)

疲れ果て、うんざりし、疲れ果て、燃え尽き、うんざりし、辞めたい、もう終わってほしいと思うようになり、他にできることはあまりありません。

明日がどうなるかはわかりません。今日をなんとかするしかありません。私は天気予報士ではありませんが、天気予報は良くありません。

Empty is my heart; lacking loving parts.
Empty is my soul; for loss has taken its toll.
Empty is my mind; where thoughts of death like to hide.
Empty is me; unable to find a restful sleep.

私の心は空っぽ。愛する部分が欠けている。
私の魂は空っぽ。喪失が代償を支払ったからだ。
私の心は空っぽ。死の考えが隠れたがるところ。
私は空っぽ。安らかな眠りを見つけることができない。