The sweat is sticky, I’m crawling looking for the exit from my skin. Annoyance comes way to easy, I’m tired, pissed off and I want to get fucking high. Detox is an ugly word and a complete state of uncomfort. Toss and turn, tossed back again. The pounding in my chest the sad reminder that this is real. I set myself up to be completely fuckered and in that, I think, I hope is how I will succeed. I am flat broke, a few hours and I have no place to live. I pulled out all the stops, can’t even find a crumb to hoot in the pipe or lick off the floor. I amplified my problems in hopes the problems are the cure to my problem if that makes any sense?!? No money. Fuck I want to get high. I hate this phone, I hate breathing. Breathing got me here. Some might say my cracker slid off the deck of cards that is missing the puzzle pieces. I recently have taken up a new hobby of trying to obtain life cessation. It’s weird though, swallow 50 pills only to find out in the aftermath that my first try I had a full fledged heart attack, and I didn’t even know. The last batch of 50 pills was a pile of embarrassing bullshit that was no where even close to the desired effect. It’s only adding to the uncomfort of my current state. As it was explained to me that I’m dumb and I fucked it up, and that on the first try my messed up slightly large slightly failing heart, attacked. I figured out that scares me? I mean I did dip out the hospital with out asking questions or the formal certificate stating participant has obtained discharge stamps. I have noticed the palpitations and the pain, I don’t know how much damage I’ve done, and to continue on this life long bender probably isn’t going to help much. The reasons I find are not mine, that make me want to breath. I got to thinking it’s probably cold in that wooden corpse planted pot, I also came to the equation that I can’t hold her if I’ve finished the maze and found the final prize. I know I wouldn’t sleep well knowing that if she needed me I would scare the fuck out of science, and make the air intake once again function and crawl up to the world above me as a zombie, still it would be funny to see the looks that I would get. The dead man on a mission to find his living bride… Detox, the only option then that I can think of that might prolong the time spent with her in my arms. I haven’t told her yet that I love her that much, I love her enough to live.

I make light of my depression, and suicide attempts, If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out. I can not advocate for life, I can however hope that maybe in that reach a reason will be found to keep the air flowing.


3 thoughts on “Uncomfort.”

  1. man i feel the same fucking way and have done the same type of shit. tried to off myself with Tylenol P.M. only to not only not die but have fucked my already fucking up liver even worse. it’s sad how much what you wrote hit home for me. Yeah life! fuck!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I am the first to admit I’m depressed, and I don’t suggest the end at your own hands. Please reach out to someone. I don’t know your life and I hope it is nothing like mine, still this is the only life we get. It wasn’t time for me to be over, someday I will understand why. I hope. If you need a ear, message me, I’m not always the quickest at replies… take the ride, even if it hurts no one can say you are a quitter.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I appreciate your advice. Im ok right now & that suicide attempt was over 10 years ago. Last time i almost cleaned my ears with a gun was when Robin Williams was found dead. I was fresh out of rehab & detoxing from suboxone 0


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