So, I'm still alive. My most recent lame suicide attempt proved unsuccessful. I'm sure some people view my self destructive behavior as a cry for attention or help, but they're dead wrong. I fully intended to check out of the NY crack hotel I was living in, toe tagged in a body bag. It was either that or throw myself off the 9th floor balcony of my mother's apartment. The night she began beating me was almost enough to do it. I seriously contemplated a matricide/suicide scenario. But then I thought, maybe it would hurt her worse if I just killed myself in her home and left her alive to clean up the mess and think about how she'd driven her son to suicide. Then I remembered what my mother is like. How she is utterly incapable of wrongdoing. How completely blameless and shameless she is. How everything is always MY fucking fault, because I'm a defective human being and failure of a man.
As I leaned over the edge of the railing and looked down at the hard street below her balcony, I concluded that my death would have absolutely no negative emotional impact on her. I could see her telling the cops and EMTs how this was inevitable, due to my mental problems and substance abuse. How she tried so hard to help but I just wouldn't listen. I could see her using my tragic death to gain sympathy and attention for herself. Same old mom. She abuses the crap out of me, then I harm myself, then she manipulates family, friends and anyone else who will listen to her lies into believing SHE is the victim. All they see is some sad old woman and crocodile tears, not the ugly truth. Not the vicious sadist hiding beneath that well crafted facade.
So I decided I wouldn't give her that kind of satisfaction again. No more sympathy and attention gotten at my expense. Instead I returned to the hotel and began consorting with the resident crack hoes. I copped some dope and began drinking heavily. It looked like this was surely the end for me. I'd come as far as possible. All the way from the deep south to a sleazy NY hotel, and now there was nowhere left to go but down into the dirt. I'd traveled over 1000 miles- only to discover I'm a stranger to my family. An outcast. My sister doesn't have a clue who I am, my brother won't even speak to me, my father disowned me, and my mother is the same old abusive psycho she's been since I was a baby in her cruel clutches. And the few "friends" I once had are all long gone.
So this was the end of the road. Now broke, alone, and soon to be evicted and living on the cold street, it was time to accept my fate. I popped a bunch of pills and chased them down with enough booze to kill 10 men. Unfortunately instead of gently slipping into the afterlife, I wound up staggering down the hallway of the hotel. From what I'm told I began arguing with the front desk clerk about what a shitty dump the place was, then stumbled around for awhile, only to wake up on the staircase in a pool of puke with cops all around me. They tossed me in the drunk tank and in the morning I returned to the hotel to gather my belongings and split. But to where, was the question.
Then… a small miracle. My sister texted me to say she would rent me a car and give me some money to escape NY. That was all she could do, and anything beyond that was up to me to figure out. I seized her offer and jumped on the jersey turnpike heading south. I thought, maybe it's a sign. Maybe there's still hope for me and god doesn't want me to die just yet. On the way down I got online and found a cheap room for rent on the carolina coast.
The next day I found myself drinking a cold beer on a long fishing pier, watching the gulls and osprey soar into a beautiful sunset. There were sharks, dolphins and gators swimming below, and the sexy scantily clad college girls sauntering by were the icing on the cake. I thought to myself… this is much much better.
I've heard people say happiness is a state of mind, it's not about where you are or if you're alone or not., and bla bla bla. Maybe for some folks that's true. But for me it's all location, location, location. My environment is everything. Alone in a filthy NY crack motel I can see no reason to be alive. But alone on a fishing pier off the carolina coast… it's really not so bad. Hehe
Anyway, the guy renting me the room owns a small boat, and has asked me if I'm interested in helping him start a charter biz. Taking fisherman down the river to the bay. No financial investment, just my time and labor, and he's willing to split the profits 50/50. Since I wasn't doing anything else with my life other than trying to end it, and since I'd honestly PAY for the pleasure of boating around the atlantic waterways… I might as well give it a shot.
Who knows if this will work out or where I'll be tomorrow. All I know is today I'm alive, I have a roof over my head, and food in my belly… and when the spring thunderstorms pass I'll be back down at that pier, drinking beer and fishing for cobia, flounder and sea bass. And counting my blessings I'm not splattered on that cold NY concrete.
Cap'n Zero1 out