today i wanted to be dead.
i didn’t want to kill myself,
i didn’t want to die.
i wanted to be dead.
i wanted to not be anymore.
i was dysphoric and abyssally depressed and griefstruck and i
had to pull the car off the road because i could not see the road through my tears.
music blasting, car rocking from the drafts of the other cars speeding by, shoulders shaking. screaming into the sky. i can’t. i can’t. i can’t do this anymore. why? why? why?
weeping. wailing. shrieking. howling in pain.
desperately calling up mental images to save me, of those i love, of those i do not want to live without. replaying their voices, their words, their murmurs of love, of promises. bring me back. keep me here. keep me safe.
i am having a very hard time wanting to be alive right now.
this too, shall pass. and it is all for the good.
i didn’t want to kill myself,
i wanted to not be anymore.
i got back on the road, got to where i’d set out to be, inexpertly rolled a joint, smoked half of it, got to work. two and a half hours later, my rage was exhausted, driven out by the tediousness of the work, for when your work, your passion requires exquisite concentration you really can think of nothing else. or at least, only the good things. and as i listened to delicious music and smoked delectable herb and mesmerized myself thinking about delightful people and mindbending experiences, this beautiful thing came to life in my hands.
The Salty Widow 