survival of the fittest
I've always detested the term "survivor." I'm not a survivor. Not at all. I'm a victim of G-d or fate, bad luck or happenstance.
I've also always hated the words "stong" or brave." I'm neither one. Not in the least.
Yes, a very bad thing happened to me. No, so far, I haven't killed myself or gone stark raving mad. But, in the end, what choice do I really have?
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
If suicide weren't quite so difficult, I'm sure that we would all be dead.
4 comments:
I understand and probably why I gave up trying to "end it all." And the passage of time helps but it will always be there and suck.
So that leaves us pissed every morning when we wake up, but hopeful every night that we may not wake up the following morning.. but during the day too indifferent to kill ourselves.
Nearly three yeas since our son died I now recognize that I am a survivor. I could have found a nearly painless way to die and I didn't. Not that I didn't hope for it for more than a year, but I didn't. I survived the daily war with "Is life worth living?" I think you are a survivor too, whether you recognize it in yourself or not.
I was reading through old posts on your blog the past few days. This one stuck in my head. Why? Because I agree with you.
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