>Tonight I joked about killing myself. Twice. I wasn’t one-hundred percent joking, to be honest. Just talking under the influence of pain and sugary sour tequila. A friend told me she would hang me from my nipples if I ever dared kill myself. It was all a joke. We both laughed, then we cried, then we laughed again.
I was joking.
Except I wasn’t joking.
It’s so hard to tell the difference between joke and fact, sometimes I get caught up in my own fantasies and forget how I really feel. Maybe I really was joking. Maybe she really would hang me from my nipples.
Sometimes I wonder how I can joke so lightly about suicide when it’s such a serious and sometimes touchy issue to me. I don’t even know which part of me jokes and which part of me feels affected by the jokes. I am a morbid person and I will never change. Maybe I do want to kill myself, and that’ll be the end of my morbidity.
I make people uncomfortable sometimes. I make myself uncomfortable many times. Maybe the key to my happiness lies in me being morbid and being able to stop it. I really don’t understand.
I do have a good heart.