And with this, we have the end of Sketch-A-Day 2.0.
Year One.
Tomorrow begins Sketch-A-Day 2.0 Year Two. This time, I carry guns.
So, yeah, I’m not ending the Sketch-A-Day blog. Probably ever. I haven’t decided if I want to continue the numbering or renumber the posts starting from “1”. Maybe even a 1.1, or a 0.5.AU.INF.INH.
I’ll probably continue the numbering. As a long time comic book fan, nothing felt quite like jumping into a book that had 300 previous issues I could jump into and explore. God, I hate comic renumbering, and so does a friend of mine.
It’s been a rough year, personally. My mom had spinal surgery, my dad got cancer and I spiralled deeper into a depression that I honestly can’t see myself getting out of. My parents are both okay now – Mom’s new spine is working out and Dad is cancer-free at the moment, but I am… I dunno.
I used to not think about suicide so much.
I’m of the belief that people who commit suicide are selfish, hurtful people who don’t deserve sympathy or empathy. Their loved ones yes, but the actual person – no. They lost that right the minute they took themselves off the playing field.
And yet I can’t stop thinking about it. My heart and my soul are just… crushed. I am trying so desperately to not think about killing myself, it kind of becomes the only thing I think about at moments. I don’t want to be the selfish asshole that does it, but let’s face it: I’m a selfish asshole. There’s no victory or solace in it. Not that I’m looking for that. I’m not looking for pity and I don’t want it. This is my blog and I can try to empty my brain and maybe by typing this out, I’ll feel better? I don’t know. I guess I just kind of want my situation – whatever that is – to be over. I just want it to be over. And so I struggle on, everyday thinking about suiciding myself whenever an opportune – or inopportune – moment arises. I’m just so goddamn tired. I’m tired of me, of being me, of being in my life; I’m tired of being sad, alone, unloved, heartbroken and soul-crushed. There are days where I just start crying for no discernable reason. It’s getting harder to hide it in public or around others. It is consuming me and I am beginning to no longer care about anything at all, and that’s what scares me the most. Because if I stop caring, what’s to stop me?
So yeah. I got a case of the “Mondays”. I’ll get over it.
I need help, but it doesn’t exist. I can’t afford therapy or medication, I can’t even afford to force myself to be social, and even when I do I sit in a corner quietly hoping no one will talk to me and wishing I was home, alone. And then upset that I’m so goddamn alone and all I want to do is just stop everything.
I’m just in a “funk”.
I am useless and unloved. And yet I continue on, pretending everything’s okay and that this will all blow over. I don’t want your words of pity, I don’t want you to tell me it’ll all be okay, just chin up!
Because you’re wrong.
But I’ll meekly smile, nod and shrug and mumble a “yeah, you’re right.” Because that’s what you and I both need me to hear.
But you’re so wrong.
But.
I won’t be committing suicide anytime soon, because as much of an attention-seeking selfish asshole as I am, I am also a coward and for some reason, struggling to maintain that last bit of optimism and hope. It is fading fast, though, and yet I will continue to struggle.
I will continue.
Comments will be turned off on this post. Any comments referring to this post will deleted and unanswered. This is my blog. If I cannot indulge in my problems here, then where? You can’t answer that. See the beginning to this paragraph.
I will continue.
Tomorrow, I will post a sketch, beginning Year Two of the Sketch-A-Day 2.0 – Year Two of an indeterminate amount of years.
I will continue.