I don't want to be awake anymore
so I keep rehearsing my death.
Ask for my plan
and I will give you more detail
than what you think is safe.
Every night I pray for mortality;
for a life that ends.

I set a goal for myself,
to write one word today,
nothing ambitious
or profound,
just one word
to start again,
just one word
to show the way.

Believe.

Come sit with me
for a while
and I'll tell you
your story.
It won't take long.
I've watched from afar
and have stood by your side.
I know all the details:

the hollow dreams
the heartfelt wishes
the prayers
the loneliness

I'm the only one
who understands;
the only one
who has shared your burden

Come sit with me
now.
Share my blanket,
throw it over your shoulders
and melt into it's warm embrace.

Soon it'll all be over.
Your ears will rush
then fall silent.
Your thoughts will scatter
then disappear.
Your mind will clench
and then relax
and in that moment
that very last moment,
your story will end.

If you were told
you have to live your life
all over again,
without changing a single thing,
would you be happy or sad?

I was sorting my memories,
from left to right,
placing them carefully
on each side of a scale.
I was hoping to find a balance
to settle my thoughts;
an equilibrium
that would calm my mind.
But I soon discovered,
my dark memories
were much heavier
than all the others,
and my perspective was burdened
by an unfriendly past.

I wish I could just take
all that melancholy
and pile it high,
all those failures,
mistakes
and betrayals,
then strike a match
setting fire to the darkness
consuming it to dust,
scattered and weightless.
Only then would the scale tip
back in my favour.
Only then would my true memories
be measured.

It's how I feel,
not who I am.

I want to feel worthwhile
I want a peaceful mind
that turns away from suicide.

I want life to be
my greatest accomplishment,
not death.

I save my life every day.
Every morning I wake up
and decide to live,
even though my limbs are heavy
and my mind stumbles,
I still heave myself up,
put my feet on the floor
and stand

A soft breeze of hope
brushed across my cheek.
I had thought I was dead -
I should have been dead -
but no
I felt my future's caress.

Slowly I opened my eyes
And recognized
that circumstance had saved me
or perhaps
something more had saved me.
I can't be sure.
All I know is
a soft breeze of hope
brushed across my cheek

I'm carrying my corpse today.
With every step,
I stagger beneath its weight.
My muscles are taut,
flexed to the point of breaking
I can't hold on much longer
I'm so tired
I just want to lay down
And let it drape over me.

My death is a private matter.
- but it's not -
So much pain.
So tired.
I can't stop now.

Disjointed words
Broken thoughts

I am sorry.

Which is better
happiness or hope?
Can you have one
without the other?

My ending is already set.
It stands right before me.
My GPS tells me I'm here;
just one step away.
But no,
I have to keep
reminding myself
that when my thoughts
are at their darkest,
I must turn away
and ignore
the constant recalibrations
that lead me back
to this same spot,
this one destination.
I have to keep
reminding myself
to turn away
and forge a new path
that will take me
further and deeper,
the long way 'round.

My glasses are broken.
I can't see much beyond my feet.
My eyes alone are not the best.
You see,
I need a new prescription;
one that will help me see the world
as you do:
one that will adjust
whether it's too dark
or too bright;
one that will let me see
the whole horizon.

Why is the thought of being happy
so difficult, so daunting?
What is it about the future that frightens me?
Perhaps it's my past.
I've never been anything
more than promising;
anything more than
two years away from two years away.

Happiness for me is a leap of faith,
of letting go, of jumping out.
It's a surrender of my greatest possession
in exchange for some thing
I can't even hold in my hand.
Death is tangible.
Happiness is not.

Besides, am I even worthy of it?

You've fought hard for so many years
You've turned back so many dark thoughts
You've saved yourself so many times.
You're beyond worthy.

Happiness is your reward,
even if it's just fleeting,
like a breath of fresh air.
Don't think about how you got here
or where you' re going,
just close your eyes,
just for a moment,
and smile.

It's something
that has always been there
waiting;
waiting for my heart to open
so it can rush in to fill the void.

I'm too old to have dreams.
I fall asleep so easily now,
no  interruptions
no thoughts
no more.

Let my life be my suicide note.
Remember the happy times
we shared together.
Don't focus on these last words.
They're not the real me.
They're flat thoughts
with deflated meaning.
They're all I can think of
in this last moment.

How I lived was who I was:
patient,
compassionate,
thoughtful,
and creative.

No one ever truly knew
the constant thoughts
that hollowed out my mind.
I didn't let you.

Please don't let this one mistake
change who I was to you.
Please remember me as
a kind man who liked to write.

I'm discouraged
and ashamed of myself
so I binge and binge until
I'm discouraged
and ashamed of myself.

What can I say?
What can I possibly say
That will make any sense?
I am living a lie,
tapping words into my phone
that are selfish
and cruel,
all the while smiling
and being polite.

You have all been so kind.
I wish you could understand
how much you've meant to me.
I love you all
that is why
I feel physically ill
thinking about the pain I'll cause.
Right in the pit of my stomach
I'm crushed.

I see my family soar,
their confidence spellbinding
I love them all so deeply.
Why am I doing this?
Why am I being so hurtful?
Why am I sending them hurling off course?
I can't explain.

It just is.

I am sorry.
I am truly sorry.

Living is not about creating the future
or fixing the past.
It's about opening yourself up
to the possibilities of the moment.

Every day I'm defying death.
Every day I'm more exhausted,
fighting the fight
that never ends.
I'm ashamed of my thoughts;
frightened by their intent.
I just need to hold on
just one more day,
every day
just one more day.

I work alone.
And when the words are finished
and the ink is dry
I put them in a bottle
and throw them out to sea.

Lots of people have helped me
but none have truly healed me.
I guess that's more my failing
than theirs.
They can give me
all the tools in the world,
but if I don't use them
it is my fault I fail.

Today I want you to find a stone,
a small smooth stone
that fits into the palm of your hand.

It's not shiny or colourful.
It doesn't have a professional polish.
You will not find it at the store.
And it's not inside your house.

It's somewhere outside on the ground.
where you walk by everyday
when you are heading to your car
or on your way to the park.

When you spot it, you'll know.
Everyone else sees an ordinary stone
but you see why it's special.

I want you to pick it up
and hold it in your hand,
first with your fingers out flat.
Feel the weight.
You'll know it's just right.

Now close your fingers tight around it.
It should fit perfectly into the space.
No part of it should show,
completely protected in your hand.

There's no need to carve the stone.
There's no need to stretch your hand.
It just fits, perfectly.

Your hand will not grow any bigger.
The stone will not change
its shape or size.
It will always fit,
just as the first day you found it.

Don't ever try to be more of "what I want".
You already are.

I just want it to end.

The hopelessness, the fear,
the constant critic in my head:
I've lived with them all for too long.

All I've ever known is this war, this endless battle.
There's nothing wrong with wanting it to end.
To wish that it didn't is cruel.

But why can't the best solution be the simplest?
Why do I have to keep fighting?

At times it's deafening,
and I'm so exhausted.

Why can't I just lay down in no man's land
and let this battle fall silent around me?

Why can't that be the end?

Because... I'll never know what's possible.

For most of my life
I've walked with my head down
looking at my feet
and the shadows I cast.

Then one day
I'm not exactly sure why
you chose me.
One day
for the first time
in my life
you roll back my shoulders
filled up my lungs
and held my head high.

What a difference
to see the world
from your perspective!'

I never realized
what I was missing
until you directed my eyes
to the bright blue sky,
painted with sunlight
and dappled with clouds;
to the vibrant trees
and fragrant flowers;
to people's faces
full of life and laughter
and so much more.

My neck is still too weak
to hold my head up for long
but each day I'm trying
and each day my muscles
grow a little bit stronger.

Every day
you do something for the last time.
You don't realize it.
You don't know why or how.
Only when you look back
do you understand
what has happened;
that something you
once did or said
is no more.

The world is still,
its colours depleted,
vague and waiting,
hoping
for that first light
to break the horizon,
for that first warmth
to settle
on the grass.

I close my eyes,
and open my mind
and let
that first deep breath
wash over me.
Its invitation
is like no other.
I'm reborn,
ready to try again,
to take that first step
one more time,
confident
that this time
I'll succeed.

My favourite constellation is Orion.
I like it first and foremost
because on a cold clear winter night
it is easy to find in the sky.  
The four corner stars are very bright.

Once you find it
and your eyes adjust to the darkness,
you can discern his belt,
the three dimmer stars across the middle.

If you keep looking
and the night is just right,
you can see his dagger hanging off his belt:
even dimmer stars in a column.

And on very special nights,
far from cities and stress
you can actually see the Great Orion Nebula -
a cloud of interstellar gases
where stars are actually born.

With each thought we share,
each story, picture and sound,
we see a little more of each other.  
I am certain if we keep looking,
on a very special night,
far from our daily lives,
we will discover the universe together.

I don't believe in the devil
but I hear his voice every night
whispering in my ear,
"Do it,
win or lose,
just do it."

My grip on the bed sheets
is all that keeps me safe.

Were you bullied as a kid?

I'm asked that often.
I'm not really sure why.

I know my dad was.
I know my best friend was
along with many others,
but I myself was never directly bullied.

Instead
I watched in silence
as others were attacked.
Empathy would surge through my veins
but never with enough courage to help.
I internalized what I saw
shared in the shame and tears,
all the while doing my best to blend in
so as not to be the next target.

I succeeded.
I was never bullied by another.

Over the years though
I became
my own worst enemy.
Using the cruel words of others
I have bullied myself to the edge.
Relentless in its criticism,
ruthless with its words
the bully within
has cut me down
again and again
draining me of my worth
and self compassion.

I just want it to stop.

I just want the bully to go away.