The F word.

I believe that suicide is the maximum expression of a failed life.  It’s such a failure, that you recognize it yourself.  It is such a failure, that you needed to quit, to hit the Game Over button yourself. What a bad game… It doesn’t matter if you got here because of circumstances or brain damage or anything that is not your fault, the truth is that it took you down and there was nothing else to do about it.

I am deeply depressed, but not anxious; on the contrary I am quite calm, maybe it had something to do with another sleeping pill I shove down my throat yesterday morning. I like it more this way. Being miserable about being miserable doesn’t cancel it out and leave you feeling NOT miserable. It is less torturing to just be miserable and not feel guilty about it anymore.

There’s no need to worry about anything, as I am probably going to survive today. It is a pretty nice day to just enjoy now that the guilt is gone. I am out of the house, and I don’t think I can go back for a while, cause questioning and pressure exists there, as my family is now extremely worried because I can’t go to work, and I sleep for entire days, and I do nothing about it. It’s heartbreaking to be there and hear the concerns, I don’t want the concerns, I don’t want the guilt of being responsible for those concerns.

I am currently at the Internet area of my uni, with individual cubicles and nobody to bother me for hours, nobody to notice that I didn’t shower or combed my hair.  I have all I need: Wikipedia, google searches and lots of things to read. I added a new link section in the blog about some things I’ve been reading lately that I found by random google searches. I am having fun with a new comic at; sadly, you can’t enjoy it if you don’t know Spanish, because it’s written by a Colombian guy that I am platonically in love with just for being able to write that.

I am currently acting like I had commited suicide, eliminated my life, and stayed alive to enjoy not having a life to worry about. If I actually die, then there’s no way to enjoy the pleasure of being dead, cause… it’s death. It’s nothing.

I am aware this can’t last long.  I might have to go back to the Misserable Failure soon.

Sorry for the morbid thoughts, but I just loved writing all that.

Please don’t offer help or cheering words, cause I might vomit.

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