There will be no rebound. There will be no seducing. You have hit the zero, absolute zero, of your life, the “recalescence point”, if you will. The point where you finally realize your insignificance to the world, the fact that you don’t make a difference in anyone’s life, and nobody cares about you. Sorry if that comes across as harsh, but truth is a ****: your parents don’t care about you, for to them you are only a nuance born out of an accident; your friends don’t care about you, they’re only using you to get one rung higher in the blood-soaked ladder called life; and your boyfriend didn’t care about you because- well, I shouldn’t have to explain that one.

And the best part? The wonderful, delicious frosting of irony on a cake made of ****? life will not get better. That’s right, there is no “calm after the storm”, no “it can only go up from here” bull****. You may have hit your lowest point, but it will only get worse from here because pain is a fundamental part of life. Life is a cycle of pain; every day you get up to go to the same damn job with the same damn boss and do the same damn thing for 8 ****ing hours only to come home and fall asleep on the couch because you are so exhausted, in between the nights you aren’t slobbering TV dinners and beer while watching the same fake show over and over again; every year comes and goes and with it come the same 4 seasons each with their 4 different forums of hell, and every year has the same damn get-togethers with the same damn people at the damn same time for the same damn reasons.

There is one thing that isn’t a cycle, but a line; a island in a sea torture, an oasis in the desert of pain. Do you know what that is? Death. Death is the only way you can “stick it” to God; to say “I’ve had enough of your games.” I’m not trying to appeal to your emotions; think about it from a logical point of view: If the amount of pain in this world exceeds the pleasure, isn’t neutrality the best option? (and no, Shakespeare was wrong; it is better, in fact, to never love at all then to have loved briefly and lost forever.)

I cannot kill myself; for in this mental institution they have locked up my knives. No, the best I can do is to secretly pbum on what I’ve learned, and hope, and if I can save even one life, then I can die content.

Pick your poison:

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