I am an insufferable cunt.
My miserable thoughts about killing myself, and the inherent depressed state I tend to be in, has turned me into this asshole your friends warn you about before you meet me. There’s good inside of me, but it’s struggling to come out. My shite thoughts about myself all too often turn into nasty remarks to the people I care about.
I am an insufferable cunt.
The most recent example of me being a complete piece of shit, who is undeserving of anyone’s friendship, was R. He is a great friend, and though I appreciate that he sticks around (even cunts need to be tickled sometimes) I feel that my vile remarks in the past week may very well have cost me a friend.
He is happy; he is in a great moment of joy in his life right now, and he deserves his happiness – like anyone does. He shares his happiness too, with anyone who wants to hear it, and of course especially with his friends. But then, when he asks me to comment, the first thing that bubbles up inside of me is bile. Instead of swallowing it, or spitting it out before replying, I give him all the bile I’ve got. And why? Well, I want to kill myself, but he doesn’t deserve to feel that way! There is no good reason to give him shit, yet I did.
If he visits me again I should get on my knees and thank him for doing so. He is a good friend, he is a great man, and he’s the best human who can stand being around me. I know I won’t get on my knees for him though. Because…
I am an insufferable cunt.
Over the past couple of years, my unrestrained tongue has killed more friendships. I won’t go into detail. It’s never to late to make things worse, yet nobody deserves the shitstorm I pour over them and repeating it anywhere won’t just make it worse, it’ll make it drag. And wounds that drag are infected; all I’m trying to do with all that’s in me is disinfect myself, and hope my misery isn’t contagious.
It’s not just my unrestrained tongue though, that gets me into trouble with people I care about. It is also my untrained tongue. Over the past few years I’ve allowed myself to be dragged into conversations out of which there’s no good way. My replies to certain inquiries have cut me in half, have made me regret being alive, have made me regret the moment I joined the company, for the inquiries were out of genuine concern, yet my replies showed no tactical or political skill whatsoever. I seem to be unable to bite my tongue and breathe before giving the politically correct answer; I go straight for my own harsh perspective; my fucked up, twisted, subjective version of a perceived truth. There’s no way I can make everything right I’ve said in the past years, and it hurts every day again.
In a nutshell, there you have it. Don’t ask me questions others may not like the answer to. Because I’m on a perpetual crash-course to ruin my friendships for no good reason. So better yet, don’t ask me anything at all, for…
I am an insufferable cunt.
This is perhaps the reason why I haven’t made an appointment with W yet; the tea may not get cold before I say something nasty. Like I’ve said before, I’m a coward – and I’ve become afraid to speak, for I am likely to say something nasty. All as a result of some depth of a depression.
On Facebook I found a quote on a picture of an out-of-focus seagull. Credit where credit is due; the picture and the quote are by Liz Young. I don’t know Liz Young, but Facebook has a way of getting quotes around the world. Liz must be quite crafty with words, as I need over six hundred words, for what she says in twelve.
“Depression is numbing.
Depression is evil.
Depression is cunning,
baffling, powerful,
deceitful.”
And that’s why
I am an insufferable cunt.
While writing this blog, the blog was called “diary of a suicide”.