creep

it's been increasingly clearer that the correct answer is suicide. 

the inertia of staying alive has been the only thing keeping me together. i've effectively shut off all of my support systems. not that they're unwilling, it's just that the genuine expression of my damaged self has been painted as either my fault or unwelcome.

i can't trust anyone to be real with. i always have to withhold something. a real part of myself that can't be given space. i've lowered my standards already. i've stopped looking for acceptance, just basic acknowledgement. without judgement please? nah. not even that, in this economy.

with youthful joie de vivre, the alienation was bearable. i had places to be, food to eat. basking in the beauty of novelty. but with age, i'm less receptive to new experiences. a little too set in my ways. it would have been fine if i was still enjoying the old reliables.

depression hits differently lately.

suicide was once a fantasy. a half-meant expression. now the motivation literally creeps up on my skin. i can feel a tingling up my body. a sort of tension that might be released if i just pulled the trigger.

of course, it's just a feeling. i don't know whether that's what it's calling for. but i'm certain that feeling, along with everything else: the grief, the joy, any and all uncertainties - i'll be freed from them.