Yesterday, I went to my mom's grave site with a dead cell phone, backpack full of pills and a 64 ounce soda. I was going to die. I took some pills, just enough to get me going. My prescription for courage. Then, a little later, I shit my pants and my family rolled up to my mom's grave site. I left them there, because I had shit my pants.
So, yesterday's attempt to die ended horribly. It kind of makes me wonder.
I went home, took 2 days worth of my medication and woke up this evening to a nudge by my husband asking me if I was still alive.
Now, I am left with the question of 'to die' or 'not to die.'
I really wanted to die at my mom's grave site, but I have a feeling she made me shit my pants and called my family in. So, she is out.
Where in the world would be a good place to die. I have already tried my shrink's office. That almost worked, but they found out and called 911.
I can't die at home. I have 2 kids there. That would be the most selfish thing I could ever do, besides killing myself.
I will figure it out. I never know, I may want to live.
That brings me to something very important. I don't want my body to die. I just want all of the inner pain and anguish to die. But, I don't know of a way to separate the two. Therefore, they both must go.
I only wish for peace...
