this is not my suicide note

this is not my last good bye to you, my friends, my family, my love lost, my love never found, my almost, my missed chance, my every evil thought

this is not that

this is not my cry for help, my plea for forgiveness, my screaming shaking voice broken by tears and quiet whispering fears

this is not an ode to Her, to you, to anyone

this is not another story about being depressed, being rejected, or being alone

this is not my suicide note

this is not a way to break the silence, an offering of self violence

this is not a remembrance of better times, not about being happy, about avoidance

this is not about the empty pot of coffee, the lack of sustenance

this is not about the fact that I make excuses to not do the things I need to do, that I am too sad to do, that I am sitting here writing instead of doing

this is not about how I stare at the ceiling and wonder why I cannot find home in my home, feeling homeless and alone in the home I cannot bear to leave

this is about, hmmm,

this is not my attempt at making contact, contextually pretending to be a normal person when I am sad, using self check out to not have to speak to a human for the third straight week

this is not my suicide note, but it is a note about dying

this is about dying a little every day, finding new ways to ignore that I am dying, dying to find a way out with out dying, an escape that doesn’t have to be

this is not my suicide note

this is not my way of dealing with not dealing, of not feeling the way I am feeling, of not crying when I damn well am crying

this is not that either

this is not the last chance, desperate gamble that someone will read my not a suicide note and think it is a suicide note and ask me if I am okay

I am not okay

this isn’t about that

this is not wondering where my friend who said he would call a year and a half ago went that he forgot to call a year and a half ago

this isn’t about him

this isn’t about you

hell this may not even be about me

and this damn well is not my suicide note

this is not trying to figure out how to turn off the faucet that is constantly running down my cheeks

this is not about the scars on my face from when the five hundred degree hot plastic back fired and i barely blinked in time to save my eye

the scars that show when I am balling my eyes out because someone on tv said something so poetic it made my soul tear and me wish I had hair to rip out

this is not about wanting to feel real pain instead of the pain I feel that everyone says is just pretend

this is not a fucking suicide note

it feels like it could be but it is not

it is nothing

it is not a love letter, a regret given voice, a voice given thought, a thought given shape, a shape given life, a life given hope, a hope battered like the spouse of an alcoholic

this is none of that and all of that and some of it is true and some is just conjecture and rumors heard from behind the bushes or under the stairs, or seen in the stares of those that wish it were a suicide note because I am bringing them down

this is not a fuck you to every one who doubted me

this is not me wishing I were someone else

though sometimes I do, especially when I read the things that sound like desperate pleas to an absentee father

this is not my suicide note

this is not my love letters, misspelled and mispronounced because I only every read the words, no one ever spoke the words, no one ever showed the basic fucking common courtesy to extend a hand when I am at my absolute bottom

this is not for those that read all the things I say and never tell me what they think of the words, what they think about me, what they think at all because fifty of you read my shit every other day

this is not me hoping the phone rings

this is not my suicide note

this is not my impending mental breakdown given life

this is not my fat thumbs racing across the keyboard to beg you to understand

this is not about you

this is not anything at all

like me to you

like me

this is just more words falling out of my stupid mouth into an unfair, uncaring, and frankly, unattractive world

but it is not my suicide note to be found by the apartment complex when the neighbors complain about the smell

to be found by my ex wife when she comes looking for the child support

to be found by my children when they wonder why daddy didn’t come to get them

this is not that

no

this is not that

this is nothing

like me to you

like me

Love, ME