Smalltown Boy

Dear Paul,

I'm going to try to be as honest as possible.

I finally found a few crumbs of weed to smoke. I played that song you told me about and finally cried like a baby. I feel a little better, even though I can't stop crying. I've been trying to figure out how to kill myself ever since I woke up, but I'm scared that I'll just suffer even more if I do. If I were a sadistic god attempting to design a perfect hell, this would be it. At least with the lake of fire you would probably just get used to burning. I guess at least in this reality we have "hope". I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing, as obviously many others have questioned historically.

There we go. I stopped crying. Now my body just hurts again.

The last thing my mother said to me was that I should kill myself. Well, technically she said, "If that's what you want to do, then do it."

With the intent of being absolutely truthful, I just checked my phone to make sure I didn't have any missed texts from her. Nope. I sent her a message about an hour ago to ask her if she would withdraw $200 from my account (she's my payee for SSDI) and leave it downstairs so I can buy a new tire and leave tomorrow. Many times in the past when they've kicked me out or we've gotten in fights, she refuses to give me any of my money. She tells me she's going to call Social Security and tell them I'll have to find someone else to be my payee, which would mean that I wouldn't have access to my money for a while (who knows how long it would take). I have no reason to believe she won't pull that card this time. Although once when they kicked me out, she would leave $20 of my money under their doormat if I needed it.

Anyway, now Frankie Goes to Hollywood's "Relax" is playing. As if. I wish I could relax. I wish I could go to Hollywood. I would love to have vegan cupcakes. It's been too long.

Fuck. That song was getting on my nerves. Then I spent a long time lost in memories remembering the music I was listening to the time I had to literally run away from home after I escaped through my bedroom window when my dad had kicked down my door and had a shotgun at the end of my bed. I think he was originally going to kill me but then he said he was going to kill himself. I don't remember. It's a blur. I just remember running down the road to my aunt's house, barefoot, freaking out. She took me to my sister's house to stay, and I think she brought up the gay thing, thinking that was the cause of all the problems, and when I used the word "fuck" she tried to tell me I was possessed by demons. I was like 16. Actually, she told me the same thing last year, but this time in a much nicer way.

I'm getting tired of typing. I'm listening to Tori Amos. I'm pretty sure I was listening to her that night when I was crying myself to sleep. Definitely Merman. Also the last instrumental track on one of Sarah McLachlan's album.

Let me get to the point without telling you my life story (well, at least my new point that I just came up with):

*welp, I never finished writing this, but I'll publish it anyway---wrote it originally sometime before I went to rehab*