A friend posted a song “Ruins” by Downriver Dead Men Go. I played it and just sat quietly while listening. I was in front of my laptop, staring at a blank page, waiting for me to write. To let the feelings out. To let the thoughts spill somewhere that isn’t me.
My eyes watered. One tear, then another. The front of my shirt got wet. I grabbed my head, both hands tight around it, like I was trying to stop something from leaking. or maybe trying to squeeze it out.
I don’t feel alive. I do things. I even worked out today. First time in over a year. It was brutal. My body pushed back hard, like it remembered everything I’ve done to it and wasn’t ready to forgive. I was supposed to do 12 lunges. I did 30, maybe more. Not on purpose. My brain just. wasn’t there. My muscles already hurt. Tomorrow will be worse.
I’m sitting here now, hands grabbing my head. I want to slam it into the wall. Or the sharp corner of the desk. The part that might crack the skull. I want it to bleed. To end. I’ve always known. if I ever go, it won’t be with pills or off a bridge. It’ll be this. Head. A sharp edge. Blood. Done.
Because that’s where it started, right? That’s where everything is. The noise. The pressure. The mess.
And when I look at my life? It’s not terrible. Just pointless. I’m not excited about staying. I don’t want a career jump, or to become some incredible designer. I don’t care about some glassy apartment in New York, or a partner, or kids, or a future anyone would be proud of.
The only thing I want right now is a bike. I think about it all the time. The speed. The noise. The wind. I’ll buy it. I’ll ride fast. I won’t wear a helmet.
And I hope my head explodes.
That’d be my favorite ending.