Sitting in my car for hours, sick of it all. Bring the barrel up then down etc. Not the first time, and won't be the last. As always, it is not out of love, purpose or some other tether, that I choose to stay. It is because things never work out, and always go so bad, no matter what I do, that I just know if I ever pulled the trigger, stepped off the ledge, plunged the syringe, I would not die. I would end up deformed or handicapped, or a vegetable still locked in my head. I start laughing, then hitting myself, then crying, and wait to do it all again another day.