Rabbit hole

I increasingly feel as though  I am a foreigner inside of my own existence. Sure, it is strange to stand in the middle of a crowd ebbing and flowing throughout the day while I just stand there unnoticed, barely touched by small turbulence of the passers-by. A muted song, like a memory wrapped in hallucinogens, almost inaudible, holds me in place against the tug to escape into a new world vision traveling from a syringe into a popping vein. None of that makes sense, either because that is a rabbit hole that is far too difficult to escape. One simply does not say goodbye and walk out that door. 

Then, there are the days when I go to work sply because I am afraid of myself. I need a distraction. I need to be surrounded by other people where I will still be anonymous, but noticeable to hold on throughout the day. On those days, it is quite possible that if I was to go off alone, I would likely commit suicide. One of the scariest things about me it me is that I have these unstopable thoughts that I should just do it, and I have to constantly rationalize myself out of going through with it. Usually, I just try to think about how I would kill myself. I mean, I don't want to be careless of inconsiderate, so slashing my wrists or shooting myself inside of the house is out of the question because I wouldn't want my wife and children to have to live with the memory of my death inside of the house. My wce believes in religion, and although I think it is nonsense, she might think that evil spirits lurk in the hallways where I spilled my own blood. That would be cruelty beyond belief, even though it is rooted in belief. Then, I figure I could slash my wrists inside of my truck. I hate my truck, and although I have driven it for close to ten years, I have never liked it. Well, there was that time while I was on anti-depressants that is saw its usefulness and stopped hating it. Maybe I just dislike it, but if I got blood all over the interior then it would be difficult to sell. Unfortunately, my family wouldn't get much life insurance money if I commit suicide, so they would need the money from selling the truck.

By the time I get to that point in that internal conversation I have distracted myself enough to make it through the day, and if I get through to the end of the day, there is beer. And beer is good.