Sunday, November 01, 2015

I think I get it now.

When people I've loved killed themselves, I'd heard others describe it as "a cry for help".

But how do you cry for help and not die?

And who wants to help?

And what could they possibly do to pry away the rust of years and years of loneliness, self-hatred, feelings of failure, of feeling like you don't matter? How could anyone possibly help with that?

Doesn't all of that presuppose some kind of Utopian ideal? That life is somehow beautiful and filled with wonder if you can just stop feeling tired and sad all the time?

I thought life was packed to the gunnels with dissappointing people who are just fucking hateful, who act like they're the only thing that matters, that you're an inconvenience or an embarrassment. Who think they're amazing and yet they have never done anything of note in their entire lives. Never even tried. People who think going to Bali makes them a world traveller. People who think George Ezra writes good songs, or that leftist progressives aren't destroying Europe.

People who all tell you one thing to your face and something else when your back is turned. In Turkey they have a special name for that, but I can't remember what it is.  

People who will fuck you over for money without a second thought.

People who will use you for everything you have, but when you need something you're suddenly all by yourself.

I don't know, you guys.

I think I've run out of steam.

Is that a cry for help?