Don't sweat the small stuff and Katy Perry has good songs...

I haven’t written for awhile because I was trying to find a reason to stay. Then a reason not to stick around happened recently, courtesy of an unassuming acquaintance who revealed all to unsuspecting me. Absolutely classy way to find out that whilst I was at the literal edge of my young eventful life, the cause….ah forget it, nothing to do with me. You would think that it being the last straw to break 100 camels’ back would have propelled me to oblivion but instead here I am. In the flesh. I am still breathing. That has to be a positive thing.

Then I came to realize that I don’t hate myself for the way I am. I make excuses not to conform just because society expects me to but I make no apologies for my life and preference. And that’s ok. Really it is. They say it takes strength to resist the many voices telling you what’s best for you. But for me I am governed by feelings. If it does not feel right then I’ll be damned if I am going to do it. So I’ll go down fighting, but when my time comes I hope I have no regrets. I also hope that like Emily Dickinson my life would be published but that is just vanity talking.

My pillars of support are firm. I thought I should shut myself up until the pain subsided but instead found myself opening up to those that have always been there for me. Been there, done that and wearing the t-shirts proudly.

So we giggled on the many failed suicide attempts and how every single one had it flaws. We didn’t like knives cause that’s too painful. Jumping off the building is too hazardous, you might just break your back or legs and become a vegetable. A gun is too messy and I understood how even in death you would want to look your best, again vanity talking. Hairdryer in bathtub was a front runner but slight problem, no bathtub. Seems slightly wasteful that in the current economic crisis to book a room in the Hilton just to off oneself. Pills was again too uncertain, how many, where do you get them, what pills and the chances of it just passing you out and then when everyone finds out they’ll put you into rehab is just too high. Hanging was my personal favourite. I had already chosen my black silver studded belt. I don’t know why but that one seems appropriate. But then when I read it might take 5 to 10 minutes of suffering, it was a complete no-go. I cannot even stand waxing. Yes, all in all it may be that the topic was a tad morbid but everything I was feeling, they have felt before. They knew and they allowed me to vent so we laughed, and laughed till tears came down my eyes. But something must have worked since I am still here and that has to mean something if not everything. I hope they know how much they mean to me but as between these types of friendships, words are lost but the sentiments are overwhelming.

It feels good to be back in the driver’s seat.