Imagining my own death

It’s 4am and I’m groggy, but too ‘awake’ for my liking.  I guess the Seroquel couldn’t keep me knocked out for more than a few hours.  It doesn’t help that the temperature in my motel room is either freezing cold, or disgustingly hot.

I have therapy today.  Due to the lack of human company for the other 6 days of the week , I’ll probably just use it as an opportunity to vent.  I really don’t want to spend Christmas alone in this motel room.  This is truly one of the lowest points in my life, if not the lowest.

Imagining my own death is comforting, but it doesn’t bring me any closer to putting such thoughts and plans into action.  It’s not that u want to live – it’s just that I’m woo much of a coward right now. But one more bad experience or scare would almost definitely change that.  Maybe I should just stare in the mirror,  because my appearance alone is enough justification to need to take my own life.  Please shut the fuck up with that “looks aren’t important” crap, because I’ve had enough of it.

If there’s a god, will they be angry at me for ending my life before ‘natural causes’ can end it for me?  Have all the people in history that committed suicide been punished for it?  Weren’t their lives punishment enough?  I wonder what happens after death? I’m quite looking forward to finding out.

I wish to die in a manner that smashes this body into pieces, somehow.  I want this body punished for all I’ve been through, especially for denying me any kind of livable life – the life I should’ve had.  I want it destroyed and whatever is left to be created, with the ashes thrown into the sea to become nothing but fish food.


Author: Becca

Dead to the world, dead inside.

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