I’ve been thinking about suicide since I was a little kid. Which makes sense because it’s hereditary and everyone on my dads side suffers with depression. I’ve raced my car down a highway just to force my cousin to vomit all the pills he took. My mothers side on the other hand can lose everything they’ve ever worked for and still look at the brighter side of things. They take lessons from the scars they get. You’re 50% of both your parents and I got the worst halves. If there’s one flaw my mothers got its that she lets herself get walked all over. I was born down here. I was born wanting to take my own life. But this isn’t a sad post, and I don’t think I’m calling out for help. This is more like that Doug Stanhope bit: “life isn’t for everybody. It really isn’t. It’s sad when kids kill themselves ‘cause they didn’t really give it a chance, but life is like a movie: if you’ve sat through more than half of it and it sucked every second so far, it probably isn’t gonna get great right at the very end for you and make it all worthwhile.”
The good thing about death though is there’s either something after or there is nothing. I’m gonna … I forgot what I was gonna say. Oh well. ANYWAYS! That’s it “go fuck yourselves and don’t take any shit!” Alright. Bye.