i am writing because i hope that it relieves some of the despair and i will keep fantasy as just that.
i am thinking of the sharp knife in the kitchen. buying that knife in seattle gave me the only thing i own that i think i can kill myself with.
i imagine just sending him one last text. please tell my mother i love her, and see that my body makes it home to her.
i will climb in the bathtub, a warm bath, take the bottle of clonazepam. i googled it, apparently i can’t overdose on it, but it would knock me into a stupor which would leave me the courage to die.
i don’t know which is more humiliating, the betrayal, or being left to die in the mire he’s left behind.
i’ve called him 15 times with no response. i am a wasted worthless woman.
i have attracted the same man to my side twice.
i lost both of them.
i wanted to love. i would forgive and love.
once i slept with a knife and feared dying.
now i will sleep in death with a knife, i fear living.