History

I left most of my history lying in a field, left to die alone, as I walked away. 

Pencil neck

Pencil neck

Sometimes you just want to stick the perverbial pencil into your neck

Right into the coratid artery and let out all of the pressure that has been building up

Let the floodgates open to dance across the walls and the floor

Because it's been a really rough day

Because the wife said something that will stick forever bobbing up to the surface at inopportune moments. 

Because the kids..

No, you must never include the children when contemplating your own weakness and failures 

But the unfortunate thing about the perverbial pencil is that there are no do-overs 

No take-backs

No pause button

No chance to rewind 

There is no one to say, "hey look at what all of this might lead to. Let's maybe hold back a bit."

There is none of that. 

There are no second chances here. 

There are no rematches

Which is maybe why the perverbial pencil is nothing more than a warm up

Maybe that is why seldom is the skin ever pierced

Seldom does the blade dig into the wrists 

Seldom does the trigger release the bullet

Because perverbial is a dress rehearsal 

And the real thing tends to happen only once. 

Presents

When choosing present I have a full proof plan strategy. I just think about what I might actually want you know things that interest me and then I'll try to understand why I want those things very simple you know now comes the hard part understanding that I am not the average person and that there are very few people like me. Therefore since so few people share my interest and my light and my dislikes I simply need to buy them the opposite of what I might want. This, of course, is not a foolproof strategy. There are people who do like beer and liquor and books. I know, because I work with someone. I also drink with some of them. Unfortunately those are generally not the people who I need to buy bread. Therefore, I just think of what makes me the most uncomfortable and then realize that someone else probably thinks that that would make a fabulous gift.

No one

No one ever says 

He looks just like you

He acts just like you

He reminds me of you 

It's the reality of the situation

But I am never seen  

I am never reflected in anyone

Except myself

That can be a lonely feeling sometimes 

Maddie

Denise just told me about a half hour ago that Maddie died this morning. Technically, it was yesterday morning. I'm still not really able to react. It's never fair when a child dies. 

You may

You may gently scoop me up into your arms 

caressing my face 

wiping the dust of sleep from my eyes

And I will turn slowly your face 

warming mine like 

the sun warms the earth each morning

your words will drift over me like 

an early morning breeze moving up the sand 

down the street 

block by block 

announcing morning 

your heart will beat with mine 

as we prepare to step together into the day

Education not execution

We must make the very clear distinction between educating and executing our children. This is not to say they we literally line our children up in front of foreign squads, but when education is ineffective and does not touch the soul, then we doom them to a slow death that will be felt for generations. Therefore, we must teach compassion and caring. We must teach that they are integral in this vast, complicated world and they have value. Their decisions have value. Their voices have value. Their lives and the lives of those whom they care for deeply have value. We must also teach them that the lives of those whom they have never met, nor will ever meet have value. Without this, we slowly destroy generation after generation. This is how we execute our children so slowly that they do not even feel the presence of death as it walks alongside them day in and day out. 

Even the most rational human being will turn to the most irrational ideas in order to beat death. 

Words fall

Words fall like flakes of dried skin

Fluttering toward the ground 

Unseen 

Sometimes they drift like paper ash 

Floating on the breeze 

Either way they land on the ground 

Silent and waiting to be trampled and forgotten 

We all learn about ourselves as we go through life. I have learned that becoming proficient with new technology is hard. It looks really cool, but it is difficult to learn to use effectively. 

No, I'm not one of you anymore, so you can either accept me for who I have become or you can keep heading down your path without me. 

Ideas, like bodies seldom drown quietly 

They seldom relinquish themselves into some peaceful lull 

That flutters to the floor of darkness

Without thrashing around

Grasping for anything solid

Looking for a foothold

Or branch to which to cling 

No, neither ideas nor bodies drown without a fight

Things I want to tell those close to about depression, but will probably never say

Depression can suck the life out of some people, but that's not me. For some weird reason I can go on. I don't know why, and it can be a struggle some days, but not everyday. Possibly the single most difficult thing to get people to realize is that my average good day probably feels like your average bad day. Our baselines are different. Keep that in mind next time you want to ask if I'm okay because the answer is both yes and no. I don't state this to make anyone feel sorry for me or those like me, but it is a good place to start. Another way of looking at it is to compare energy levels. If you are a person who gets tired at night and knows when it's time for bed, then consider that is how I often feel when I wake up in the morning. We basically experience the world in very different ways sometimes. 

Here are some things to consider:

1. Yes, I have had this feeling for as long as I can remember. It started when I was a young child, so it is all I have known. 

2. No, I'm not mad at you. In fact, I like you a lot. Unfortunately, life can make the world a complicated place, so if my body language makes you feel uncomfortable, that isn't my intention. 

3. Yes, I do get angry. Actually, I have the ability to become absolutely and uncontrollably furious. I try to do that in private as much as possible, but it does surface when I am around others. There is a very logical explanation for the dents in the refrigerator. They coincide with the reason why some of my fingers are crooked and why it hurts to close my hand into a fist. 

4. This is as difficult to write as it probably is for you to read, but I am suicidal. I haven't killed myself yet, which means I am able to keep it under some control. Still, it is there in the background playing like an annoying radio station. Trust me, I don't like the idea of suicide, but it is a very real part of who I am. 

5. I don't want to hurt anyone else, and I honestly feel terrible for everything inhave done wrong and every person I have hurt during those times when I wasn't able to control myself appropriately. There is no way to list everything, but I do try to stop engaging in actions or saying things that might hurt you. Unfortunately, if I stopped foing everything, then there is no real point to live, except to live a life other than mine. 

Sometimes i feel like everyone would be better off if I just put a bullet in my head. No one gives a fuck about me. No one listens to fucking thing I say. No one fucking cares about anything I say or do in thins world FUCK IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's like everyone fucking hates me so much that they completely ignore me except when they want something from me. 

Kitchen window

We seldom encounter a place as comfortable as the familiar scene outside our kitchen window. 

Leave

The hum of an office refrigerator
halfheartedly wrestles against some muffled conversation
soaking through the thin wall
that might as well be constructed of butcher paper
covered in memos that have been ignored,
or better yet,
maybe they should cobbled together with
deleted emails cramped into some box
nothing more than a glowing illusion
except that its growing number is so annoying
as it sits there, staring smugly
reflecting off a pair of bifocals
there is nothing to touch
there is no sound
no cadence
no footsteps or knocks at the door.
there is only a ding
or whoosh
that fades
it is a voice in the imagination
not even a hum to be drowned out
and it seems like the only thing left to do is leave

Suicide of a Middle-aged Man

Very few people in this world know, or admit to knowing, what it is like to awake in the morning and go through the normal routine. To see the sun hang low in the sky and push up toward it apex. To have children and dogs run through the house. To have a spouse cook breakfast. To sip a cup of coffee whil watching the news. And then suddenly, as if it were the song of a sparrow, a little voice saunters into your mind and says that today just might me a great day to put a bullet in your head. Of course, there are numerous considerations before anything can actually happen. First, it cannot be done within the sight or ear chit of the children. That is just mean spirited to make them live with an image or sound like that. Second, it should not leave too much of a mess; in fact, it shouldn't even take place in the home. We have a nice home and there is no reason to curse such a nice place with a grousing suicide. A home should be a sanctuary, not a graveyard. Third, the children should be with their mother because, again, it isn't fair for them to bear the burden of my going away. They are just children, after all. Fourth, one should make a list of passwords and locations of important information that will eventually be required for who knows what. Still, those things are important, especially since the death of a husband creates an undo burden on the wife. There are so many arrangements to be made, and my wife really is a very busy woman; therefore, I wouldn't want to give her too much additional work. That brings me to another point, child care. Undoubtedly, the children will need some sort of before and after school care since I won't be around anymore to take care of such things. Fortunately, elementary schools have after school programs, but middle schools do not, especially for children in the autism spectrum. Maybe respite services will come in handy. I am sure that a few close friends and family members will be willing to help out for a short time, at least. 

Jan 2 suicidal ideations again

I am becoming more and more anxious to the point that I am consistently thinking about suicide.  Denise doesn't understand and she never will. I really do not want to do it, but it just keeps coming back into my head. I cannot stop it, and I don't know where to turn. I am actually becoming fearful for myself. I will never hurt my family or anyone else in the  process, but it is truly beginning to overwhelm me. 

Say

It really doesn't matter what or when I say something, it will always be wrong. This has been regularly confirmed. Therefore, I have two choices: I can essentially stop talking or I can disregard the consequences and simply speak my mind.