I just took a bath. I took it with a sharp new razor blade resting on the side of the tub. As usual, I chickened out.
I woke up this morning barely able to move. My shitty, inefficient heart is trying to kill me again, for the third time in as many years. One of the joys of this heart condition is that I've gotten very familiar with what it feels like when my body is shutting down. I didn't go into work this morning, and my phone's out of minutes so I didn't even call in. Odds are that I will get fired, and I don't really know how I feel about that.
I'm tired. I don't want to do this any more. I need somebody to save me and take care of me. My last woman made it abundantly clear to me that my health problems were a major inconvenience to her and that she resented them. Well, it's no picnic for me either, sweetheart. She ran away to the other side of the country rather than deal with me any more.
I want to die. I can't find the strength to accomplish it. I think about it nearly every day, except on those good days that are getting rarer by the month.
I am broke. I am dying. I am lonely. I have to move in a month-and-a-half, if I even last that long at this rate.
Then what? Cobble a new existence together so that my body can just up and die again in a few months because I can't afford to keep myself alive?
I need help. I can't do this alone. More the the point, I don't want to.