johnny my computer saved your password. i’m sorry but you won’t answer any of my phone calls or text me back, i’m scared that your phone is turned off. no one knows where you are, you could be in new york by now, and we need to know where you are so we can ge you some help, you don’t want to do this johnny, you are loved, maybe you hit a bump on the road but that is not a reason to do this, you need to come home so i can take care of you. all of your cats miss you and they need to see you, i can tell their worrying about where their daddy is, they need you. johnny, things seem so dark around you because you are made of light and you make shadows everywhere you go. every one who knows you knows. i need you even though you say that i am selfish maybe i am. don’t hate your self because i love you and god loves you so much, i know there are lots of people here who care about you too. this would be easy if you were still around but you went and ran away and now we don’t know where you are or where your going or if your already dead or still alive. i want you to be alive, i pray all day that you are. its not too late. i am here just waiting for you. you can have a future. we will take care of your teeth and whatever else needs to be fixed. just please come home johnny. i’m sorry for doing it this way but i didn’t know of any other way, i love you i love you i love you i love you forever and ever and ever and ever.call me long enough to hear your voice.
Don’t worry, I’ve already called her.
Maybe I’m the one who’s being selfish. It’s so hard to tell these days, but this attempt to get my attention opened my eyes. “Things seem so dark around you because you are made of light and you make shadows everywhere you go.” That is very beautiful. In fact, I cried.
I had convinced myself I hated everyone and everything. Myself most of all, and for good reason. I abandoned the people who love me. I abandoned my pets. I seriously considered murdering someone. I acted compulsively in so many ways. How can I forgive myself? Maybe I won’t. Maybe I can’t.
But Janine has somehow found it in herself to do so. I’m turning around. I’m going home. Though technically I don’t have a home anymore. I’m in debt half a house to a friend and I can’t expect him to simply give back the keys. Janine will let me live with her, though I don’t see how she trusts me with her kids. I would never hurt them, but some of the things I’ve said recently would make anyone raise questions. She either knows me too well or not at all.
I’m betting on too well.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. I mean, I was all in on this whole homeless-or-death thing. I have no future. There are so many problems to address in my life. I’m going to be a financial burden on a woman who has two children still living at home. I’ve got a rotten wisdom tooth and four cavities to see to, and hardly any money at all. And that’s just the surface. The very surface. The skin of the cherry on top. I feel guilt, but most of all love, because this beautiful woman is willing to share all these awful things with me.
So, no suicide today. If anyone’s curious as to what I was planning, I bought sixty of the one milligram klonopin at Kelle’s, and was going to pick up a good old fashioned bottle of Kentucky bourbon to was them down with. I was going to write a suicide note on paper, and duplicate it digitally (all while still sober, of course) to be posted an hour after I did the deed.
Talking about it now, makes me feel like a child. A child who spent thirty years not getting his way. A child running away from home. How much of me is that child? Too much. Years of therapy lie ahead. I might need to be admitted to an institution long term, but because of the way my mother died, I don’t think I’d be willing. Perhaps an intensive outpatient program, which consists of group therapy three times a week. I can swing that. Financially though? I’m not sure.
How many times I’ve lost hope, and regained it? How many times I’ve found hope, and lost it? This is all part of the cycle. I realize that now. Something has to change this time. Something. It reminds me of the Dark Tower series by Stephen King. I don’t want to give away the ending, but if you can make it through seven books you might understand what I mean.
I’m not proud of how I’ve acted, but I’ve made it available for all to see. If nothing else, I can be a study in mental illness. I don’t expect to hold any dignity here, and that’s okay. You either like reading my writing and/or poetry, or you don’t. I’ll try not to take it personally, if you can do the same.
Home in a couple days,