an echo chamber for one

It was another bad morning, alone and so acutely aware of it.

Or, as we call it around here: Monday.

I had friends. At least, I had people that I used to hang out and drink and laugh and ass around with. I would be there for them when the pillars of their worlds were shook, pouring energy into them until they were strong enough to manage.

Mine are shaking, crumbling and I am alone staring into the baleful, dark eye of my coffee cup. I don’t think I left enough strength for myself. Even my tears are weak and too shallow to leave the eyes they slowly fill.

No good deed goes unpunished.

The cages we make for ourselves are the worst.

We all die alone. Some people just get to do it around more people.

“Dear ——,

“I’d originally written out this long overwrought mess and then realized that what I wanted to say was quite simple.

“I’m sorry.

“I was a horrible human being in my youth. At the very least, I had the emotional maturity of a maladjusted four-year old. It took me years to develop the self-awareness to fix that. I realize this may be something you’re forgotten or only exists for you as something to be passed as a cautionary tale, but I’ve spent more than a few nights thinking about this and wishing I hadn’t been such a stupid, detestable little shit back then.

“Once again, I’m sorry.
I hope this finds you well.
—-“

“Wow. It took me a bit to place you. Sorry but you have a common name. Really you have nothing to apologize for.

“Honestly, I really don’t remember a whole bunch about that time. Where did we meet again?
—–“

That crushing moment you realise that person who meant so much to you, who occupied so much of your heart barely remembers you or anything about you.

It’s one of those days.
One of those days for screaming into the Void. At least the Void will listen and the Void is always there.

Some days missing you is overwhelming…

Was it worth it?

The hurting at the end
I’d go there again.
It was beautiful.

I’m half the man I used to be…

What is there to say about the loneliness? I could state the obvious and just say it sucks, but I actually think I’m OK with it. I’ve spent years on my own – even in crowds, at work, at restaurants – you name it.

Being alone ain’t too bad.

But that’s being alone when I want to be alone. There are some times where I don’t want to be alone – times that come more frequently the older I get – and those are the times I hate. Though, again, it’s really not even the being alone that bothers me. It’s all those people who have wandered through my life who told me, “I’m there if you ever need me.” Or, “I’ll always be there for you.” Or “I’ll never go.”

That’s the shit that bothers me.
It’s not the ones who have stormed off that I missed.
It’s all the ones who have just faded away.

Black coffee and cigarettes: the breakfast of champions. At least it is if your sport doesn’t involve anything more strenuous than sitting at a desk. I kind of like to think of it as a microcosm of life.

One thing, I love.
One thing, I hate.
One thing makes things bearable.
One thing will kill me.

Here I am sitting in the dark, freezing my fingers off wondering what I’m going to do with myself.

Maybe I’ll do nothing.
Maybe I’ll freeze.
Maybe I’ll die.

I guess you could call this my suicide journal.

And how do I plan to do myself in?
What is my preferred method?

Time.
My plan is to overdose on it.

And who am I?
I am but one in seven billion: a  single, cast off soul, adrift in the vastness of an endless human ocean.
Screaming – but no one is listening.
Foundering – but there is no one to pull me out.

But tomorrow is another day.
Who knows? I may be somebody then.
Or just somebody else.
Another day.
Another dose of what will inevitably kill me.

Tick.
Tock.