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Today, at work, I was having a grand old time: cleaning, playing with the animals, jamming out to the headphones I (conveniently) forgot to take off when the store opened. I was even starting to dance a little bit...



And then suddenly, I was in such an emotional slump that I found myself deciding how to properly word my suicide note.



I'm not going to beat this, am I? I'm going to fail before the world I despise and loathe so much I can almost taste the blood of the slaughtered masses.



Seriously, I'd always wondered what could drive the Mansons and the Bundys of the world to do what they do. But now, I feel a degree of understanding of their mindset that competes with my desire to end my suffering the quick and easy way.



Logically speaking, which would be easier to accomplish? Do I trouble myself with the concept of eliminating the masses who piss my off whenever I look at them, making my world a better place by deleting those who disgust me the most? Or do I just... let them win?



Personally, I feel I've struggled enough. After what I've been through, option one just seems like too much work.



Option two sounds better: lie down to take a long nap, never to awaken again.



I know someone out there is looking at this and thinking that I'm weak (which is mainly true--I've struggled long enough, and am worn down rather than toughened up), but somehow, putting my thoughts to words feels like it gives me the strength to carry on for another day.



And here I am, supposed to be someone who motivates, preaches peace, love and unity, and tries to help others, but all I want to do right now is raise my innermost finger to the world, while watching my blood course down my forearm, to drip to the earth which bore me, feeding the energy of my life to her as I rejoin her soul...

Still alive, still kicking, which is actually quite surprising, considering everything that I've been through over the past few months...



Manic mood swings, hair trigger temper, missing work because I couldn't keep my shit together.



Craving blood, craving booty, sitting on the edge of my self control, teetering toward the brink of insanity.



And just when I'd reached an all time low, and was getting ready to go use the razor blade...



...someone visited me.



Mind, I don't know who it was; they wore black robes and hood, and all they did was step through the closed and locked front door, turn to look at me for a few seconds, then walk back out.



Again, I don't know who or what it was. But it did seem familiar, as for many years, something similar has followed my brother around. And just before it visited my place, my brother had stopped by to check up on me. (I made him leave, because I was absorbing his manic stresses, making myself worse--still haven't figured out how to block others out)



I'm not sure if it had come in looking for him; maybe it's a representation or a familiar of my brother's, and he decided to make sure I didn't do anything after he left; or maybe it was something completely unaffiliated with him, and it was specifically there for me, either checking to see if I'd done what I was planning to do, or warning me not to.



I can't say.



I found out later that something similar happened to my father in the 1950's; he woke up to such a thing standing over him, trying to speak. Turns out at that point, a friend of his (and his family) who lived in the same building, had all died when the gas refrigerator's pilot light blew out, gassing the whole family in their sleep. (And yes, they had natural gas refrigeration back then)



So now, I'm doing better. Can't say I'm great: I'm still craving blood and ass, in no particular order, and I'm still falling into emotional slumps, but I'm still alive, still kicking, still fighting, still... alive.



And I'm not about to snuff this "rooster" anytime soon. (yes, according to the Chinese zodiac, I'm a rooster--so buck buck!)