i think of the times that i acted upon my suicidal impulses.

after a fairly minor car accident before telling dad ab it,
after a talk at the dinner table where i witnessed my dad's totally helpless expression, "what am i going to do with you",
and
after mom told dad about my relapsing after the hospitalization.

maybe it's just to end just like it started.

dad is such a huge part of me... at all times i carry with me a big lagging santa-bag full of his hopes, his disappointments, his regrets, his fears. even though i'm fully aware that i need to rid of this to become my own person, i think both habit and my own fears make me tied down to this shitteous baggage. yea, baggage. my dad's stuff is trash when it comes to my life because it's ruining me, making me stink and rot from inside out.

i sit here in the back corner of this hole in the wall italian cafe, facing the wall and shedding tears. man if it were a scene in a movie, it'd be a fucking hit. i've just had a conversation with him; he and mom aren't happy with my distance- with my not talking to them, calling them, whatever. but that's really not the point- i know that he's not actually "angry" and frustrated- it's bc i continue to tie their hands around their backs and force them to sit in their ambiguity and watch 'n wonder ab how and when i'm eventually going to fade.. or not. the part that makes me want to rip my guts out is that i don't know how to stop it... this pain is so real, like it's so CRAZY that the perfect expression would be- to visualize a whole fish that was racing through waves just moments before, now on the cold splintered surface of a fisherman's deck, flapping and flapping, gasping. not knowing if it'll ever feel the sea again, not knowing what's next, not knowing if this torture is temporary or if it's going to be the cause of its final submersion. its exactly that.

so i look back... to the handwritten entries, to the journal entries, emails- from the times where i feel "better". and all those, i'm sad to say, they all seem fake to me. i don't remember writing them. hell, i don't even remember how i was lying on solitaire's bed last night and joking about how stupid smurfs can be. i want it to be over.. i just. man i don't even have anything left to say. i just want it to be over.