I think about suicide every day. I kill myself every day. I started writing suicide notes, under the guise that I will write until I come up with the right one. The one that tells the people I need to tell all the things I can't or won't tell them in real life. I will keep writing them until I get it right and then I will kill myself. I will never write the right one because there is no right one. But maybe I'll convince myself it's justifiable. I've come pretty close without this intended waiting period. Maybe it'll be days, maybe decades. I don't plan a future anymore. However I hope the right one asserts itself. I'm not scared of death. The coma was pretty close, and that wasn't even on purpose. Diabetes was close too, but again, accidental or bad luck or whatever you want to call it.

But this is different. I try to wake up and tell myself today is a new day. Today's going to be different. And sometimes it's true. When I work at it. Somedays I just fall back and put a rig in my arm and get as close to high as I can. Methdone keeps me from getting heroin to do it's duty, but I speedball, and I do feel it. I don't do it often though. On occasion. When I want to die, and there's nothing stopping me. I feel like shit whenever I do, but that doesn't stop me.

I'm on new brain meds. They keep me from using most of the time. I honestly don't enjoy it. And the meds take away most of the reasons I used for so long to alleviate. I'm on anxiety meds (valium) two or three times a day, though I'm trying to get it down do two or under. Depression meds (Remeron). Anti-psychotics (Seroquel), though I'm just taking it as a tranquilizer and anxiety reliever so I don't have to take the V's at night. Methadone (so my foot doesn't hurt, neuropathy, and so I manage to stay clean from the heroin most of the time. I take Marinol (pot pills) too, for foot pain and because it helps me not want to get high.

But that's all daily life for me right now. I'm working hard, though I'm hard pressed to visibly justify it to anyone. But I'm altering my view of the world in drastic ways. And the fight to keep from escape is a daily struggle. Escape I can only accomplish two ways: speedballing or suicide.

I'm being honest about everything though, and it helps. It makes progress. I grow older. I feel like an adult for the first time. And I'm making decisions that aren't self destructive. It's a challenge, but I succeed a lot more than anyone, including myself gives me credit for. And maybe it will all work out for the best: a job, education, self-respect, self-worth, a clear desire not to use deadly drugs. Or maybe I'll just check out, and die. Or spend the next thirty years running for and from a syringe. I'll die by the time I'm 55 anyway. diabetes will kill me, or if I keep smoking or if I do drugs like I used to do. But one way or another, death isn't that far off, and it's relieving to know. Even if it does scare Dexter when I tell him everything. That I'm ready to die. And I don't do it. Each day is a new day, and I didn't have to today, I hope tomorrow is the same.