Dear blog, February 11th – 2013

Dear blog, Seriously…

Made you look!
You’re only offended if you don’t actually read it….

I really want to die. Suicide is wrong, but with a little bit of philosophy, you could debate that we shouldn’t be here in the first place. I’m not a rape baby or anything, but another life debate could even put those bastards in higher society than where I sit. I’m just plain worthless.

I haven’t been employed since early 2005. I worked at Wal-Mart for only three months, full time while paying student loans and ghetto rent. First you lose your mind, then you lose your teeth.

I’m a virgin, but I’ve got an involuntary med order outpatient commitment, from the Madison County Board of Mental Health (Catholic/Faith Hospital), circa December 2006, for sex things. I wanted to discuss my lolicon (pedophile cartoon) masturbatory deal to my therapist in family therapy, and it made my mom cry for six months while I was locked up in a pill factory, so this makes me dangerous now, but somehow it also makes me disabled somehow, and you have to work for my living. Thanks!

Advanced European countries have Kevorkian-esque doctors for euthanasia consultations for severe ailments ranging from terminal cancer to: I’m just plain done with life. America needs to get us some of that. My mom had an abortion and committed suicide and I stand for neither, but hell, what am I supposed to do here? Who invited me to this perpetual anthill beehive planet of the apes, when I’ve only known eternal peace ever before this dumb place birthday, scientifically or even nonsacrilegiously if you think about it: who invited me?

So anyway, I’ve been contemplating this hard. I’m just laying on the floor next to two bottles of acetaminophen ready to go, and a bottle of water, and I’m just staring at the ceiling, not even emotional about it. I’d call a suicide hotline, but I’m shy to a mentally disabled level. Why haven’t I chugged it yet? I’m a 6″5″ 270lbs bull. This will only make me sick enough to puke it all up and be in a butt load of pain, and in the state mental hospital for 2 years. In college I drank a whole bottle of vodka and I passed out and puked so much (on my roommate’s sweaters!) that I wasn’t even hung over.

And that’s what I’ve got going on today. My dad has guns, but you need gun experience when taking down game as big as a you. I can’t even squeeze the trigger of my brother’s childhood 22 rifle because I have a phobia of the noise.

I have this blog for therapy. The only way I’d kill myself is if I didn’t have internet. That will probably happen some day, because some day the government is going to trim the fat, and I’m too fat to live off the fat of the land. I’m fat.

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