Most of my days lately. I try to imagine what it would look like after my death. Well let’s be honest. I try to imagine what life would look like for those around me after suicide. 

That word seems like something so different. Something so detached from reality. It always feel like it’s something that happens in some far off place to some far away person. And the very reality of it dosnt actually exist. But for a lot of us. It’s the only reality. Whether we’re connected to those who have done it or it’s a constant state of mind for ourselves. 

I’ve began to idolize the idea so much that I use it as my excuse to never feel anger or sadness for anything else. Most people will go through there days and experience “bad luck” or unfortunate things happening to them. All I constantly think and feel whenever anything happens, good or bad. “This dosnt matter, I’ll be dead soon enough. No point in concerning myself over it”. It’s the most invasive thought that I have. “I’m not worried about it. If it goes wrong I’ll just fucking suck start my 12 gauge. Then it’s no longer an issue”. Honestly the thought of completing brings me a lot of comfort. It’s like the safety net of all safety nets. 

73 days ago, my best friend since grade school, my Brother ended his life. And I’ve had a hard time feeling anything for anyone or anything since then. I say these words here, because the people reading are no one to me. Nothing bound to my soul. But everyone longs to be heard in some way. I’m closer now than I’ve ever been to the end. I created the plan. I have just about all my affairs in order. In a lot of ways I feel free. But still, something dosnt fit.