TW for suicide, and drugs.
Spare me the usual replies, please. I’ve heard them all.
I’m going to drop Creamsicle off at a friend’s house today.
“Yay!”
Then I’m probably going to acquire fentanyl somehow, and forget that I ever existed.
I’ve considered writing a letter to my friend, the one I’m always talking about. Creamsicle was originally supposed to be a birthday present for them, but they didn’t want him. I’d love for him to go live with them, but I don’t want them to be sad. I think I just want them to forget I ever existed. I know they probably won’t be too sad but I don’t know. I wish I could say goodbye.
Every single fucking day sucks. I am in the same exact hole today, on March 22nd, 2024, as I was on March 22nd, 2023, and on March 22nd, 2022. The only difference is I just keep getting slightly worse every year. Each winter hurts more than the last. More people stop talking to me and I smile less and life becomes increasingly more stupid and meaningless.
I’m not inclined to do the fascists job for them and off every marginalised, unlucky, sick, poor and disabled person that our shitty system fails. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and feels like the opposite of what communists should be striving for.
living leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I don’t see how telling people we aren’t able to actually help to keep suffering indefinitely is helpful or gets us any closer to anything other than more suffering.
there’s no honest evaluation of my life that predicts it will improve, how long am I supposed to sit here eating shit and how the fuck does that help the movement for communism?
This.