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of course I know a great deal about suicide. I've been trying to stay on this planet a long time and like I said got a marker on my tramp stamp to remind me that for all my bold whining talk, I chose to fookin stay.
when I'm down, I always think of leaving. cashing out - fuck it mother fuckers -that sort of thing. it's super yawn-y but c'est la vie. I totally wanted to slit my psychic wrists when I found out that my mother - who inherited dough from her mum and pop was going to cut me out. oh joy. I'm the only one of the siblings who it even matters - the only one dumped by her 'safety spouse'. the only one in a career made obsolete.
My safety spouse - the last night I ever spoke to him told me "I could kill you".
but I wanted to fight for his soul, what a psychotic crock.
I may have already written a post on my suicides but the saddest one was the one who killed themselves within the body bag. the one I often think about is the troubadour from the 1300's who died by banging his head on the stone wall.
I think - as I've mentioned - I'd starve myself.
done.
I joined bumble because of what my mother told me about never seeing a dime... but as the buddhists say - I violated right motivation.
I went to a taco joint on riverside so I wouldn't implode with misery and there you have it.
I wrote something and now will see if the neighborhood orange cat wants to sit in my lap before the big freeze.
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