I’ve called everyone I know. I’ve posted on Facebook. I’ve asked for help in meetings. No one has been able to offer me a place to sleep. I’m desperate. I put an ad on Craigslist offering sex in exchange for a hot shower and a place to sleep tonight.
That’s right. I’d rather whore myself out than sleep outside again tonight.
Made it through another night sleeping in the park. The last two nights I have slept on a picnic table so I’ve been able to stay dry when the sprinklers run, but it is making my back hurt very badly.
I’m tired, cold, sore and developing a cough. I’m dirty and have been wearing the same clothes for three days. I haven’t showered in four days. I’m currently sitting in Starbucks charging my phone and enjoying the free wifi. I do have clean socks and panties, so I will go to the restroom change and clean up as best as I can.
I don’t know how much fight I have left. There is a gun shop directly across the street. It doesn’t open for four hours but I am highly tempted to go over there and make a purchase. Because of my most recent hospitalization I am forbidden to own or possess a firearm, but I’m curious to see if I get denied or not. I don’t even need a full box of ammunition, one will work just fine for my purposes.
Day number 2 of sleeping in the park.
I’m starting to regret turning down the offer of a sleeping bag from a local ministry. At the time of the offer it was 107 degrees outside and the idea of a sleeping bag seemed absurd. The temperature has been 65-70 at night which is damn chilly after a 107 degree day.
Day number 63 of being on a waiting list to get into a homeless shelter.
It’s a good thing that shelter isn’t a basic life necessity or anything. Yet my therapy team wonders why my condition is worsening instead of improving.
Day number 74 of my new alcohol and drug free life.
I really miss my Norco/Xanax/Bourbon cocktails. Feeling shit sucks sometimes.
74 cuts on my left arm as a display of the hell that is my life.
The fact that the number of cuts is equal to the number of days I have been clean is serendipitous happenstance.
I sat there under my trees in the park, two bottles of Seroquel and a 24 ounce beer in front of me.
I couldn’t do it.
A friend had texted me earlier asking how I was doing. I replied and told her nearly the full truth that I was struggling and was thinking of drinking and popping a few Seroquel. In reality I already had the beer and I was thinking of taking all 132 I had.
She talked me down and made me feel better. I put the caps back on the Seroquel bottles and poured the beer out.
I’m such a chickenshit.
I was sitting in the park enjoying the shade and the gentle breeze when I decided to inventory the medication in my backpack:
Bupropion XL 300mg-60
Bupropion XL 150mg-80
Bupropion HCL 75mg-29
Hopefully it will be painless tonight.
Spent the night sleeping on a picnic table in a park. I am cold, sore, and very tired. I can’t believe that my mental illness and addiction has led me to this.
The park was surprisingly quiet and serene, I was able to get a few hours sleep. After sleeping in the park I now know that this definitely a place where I could die in peace.
Soon… it will happen soon.
As I wandered the streets alone yesterday I found the place where I would like to end things. I came across a beautiful park with lots of trees and green grass (in the midst of a severe drought green grass is a rarity).
I sat on the ground under the trees for a couple of hours enjoying the quiet and the gentle breeze. I ate my sandwich and relaxed. When I finished eating I pulled my blade out and ran it across my arm a few times. The release was exquisite, I was at peace.
This is the place I want to do it. It is quiet, beautiful, and serene. It is private enough that it is unlikely that some poor unsuspecting person will have to watch, but public enough that it shouldn’t take too long for someone to find me.