COLT .45 The older I get the more I realize that women are the most precious thing in my life and love the most valuable. Unfortunately, I seem to poison the ones that get close to me. Obviously I am not the first person to ever encounter this problem.
COLT .45 The older I get the more I realize that women are the most precious thing in my life and love the most valuable.  Unfortunately, I seem to poison the ones that get close to me.   Obviously I am not the first person to ever encounter this problem. #suicide stories
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anon
anonStories From Unregistered Users
Autoplay OFF  •  8 months ago
What goes on in that head of yours?

COLT .45 The older I get the more I realize that women are the most precious thing in my life and love the most valuable. Unfortunately, I seem to poison the ones that get close to me. Obviously I am not the first person to ever encounter this problem.

It is an age old question, “Why do people hurt the ones that they love?” I believe this predicament stems from my own sickness. Like a fungi I simply latch on and spread my disease to others that let me close by. Think of moss growing on a piece of fallen bark on the ground.

It seems that the only thing that can stop my suicidal thoughts are women, violence or exhaustion (excercise). After a three month hiatus the thoughts have returned to the point where I think about them daily, often for hours at a time. It is strange though, they are not the sole focus of my thoughts but simply always lingering in the background.

Generally, they focus on some sort of large hand gun such as a .45 revolver or a shotgun being aimed at an 80 degree angle pressed up against the roof of my mouth. My skull explodes with bone fragment and brain matter tearing through the air and splattering against the wall like paint.

I am getting pretty good at pushing these thoughts to the side but it is exhausting in a way.

These two aspects of my current reality bother me the most: 1. I am going to hurt the people I love and eventually push them away. 2. That I am no longer afraid of death. Now wether or not either of these are factual is undetermined but it is simply the most sense I can gather from a senseless situation.

Perhaps I am overthinking, crowding my mind with unnecessary speculation and personal monologues. Repeating some cheesy emotional, self deprecating rhetoric that has been written in millions of teenage girls high school journals. Or, or perhaps I am losing it. My mind that is.

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