Thoughts of Red

Now I’m up at almost midnight blogging my thoughts b/c I can’t sleep. B/c I’m going through some mess, b/c I’m depressed. B/c I feel like putting a bullet through my skull. I just want to sleep and I can’t. Like I’m laying here waiting for death to come get me so I can be at peace. So I can be put out of my misery, so I can stop thinking. So my brain will shut off finally. But it just won’t stop. Instead I just lay here and the words they keep flowing. I reach out and trace the hard plastic edge of the case that shutters the heavy cold metal of the 9 mm that can end my misery. I think of how long it would take for anyone to notice I’m gone. How long would my body be in my bed, with dried blood and brain matter everywhere before people start to realize that they haven’t spoken to me in days. Before anyone comes and checks on me to open the house up and smells my decaying body, notices that the cat has run out of good and water, that my social media presence has gone silent. Will people think I’m just taking a break? That I’m on my secluded trip again? Should I leave a note that says if you haven’t seen or heard from me in three days come by and make sure I’m alive? Would anyone take it seriously? Probably not. I could go missing for a week and no one would bat a fucking eye. That’s how invisible I am to people. Some will read this later and go oh I wish I had known, I would have done something more. Or I would have went by more often, or called more, or texted more, or woulda coulda shoulda….but it’s too late. I’ve put the metal away. Today isn’t the day. I don’t know when will be the day, but it will be soon. I’ve got to really get my affairs in order. Ensure the kid is taken care of after I’m gone. B/c the thing I need the most right now, I can’t even fucking get. A damn solid ass hug so I can cry into someone’s arms. So instead I cry into the barrel as it lays next to me on the pillow with the magazine in my hand that has a death grip around it. Sorry death, we won’t be seeing each other tonight. I’m just gonna rock myself to sleep. Meditate do some breathing exercises, whatever the fuck I can to stop the noise in my head. It sounds like a powerful locomotive and I’m laying on the tracks as it comes full steam ahead at me. No ear plugs. Fuck I hate my life. I wish I had the strength to just put myself out of this pain right now. But my fingers shake and quiver each time I put the magazine in. I’ve been battling this for what seems like forever now. Holding my stuffed dog tightly with one arm that isn’t shaking, the other as ratty as an old man trying to find his way across a boat in the middle of a hurricane. I want to look death in the face and say I’m ready to meet you. I’ve been ready for over twenty years, but I keep failing at every attempt to crossover. I could try tonight but it’d be my luck, I’d shake so bad that I’d miss my brain and hit the wall. Fuxk me!!