If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide and/or self-injury, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at (800) 273-TALK (8255).

I’m not good right now
I’m not well at all

But here I am!
Right over here
I’m still alive

Beating the odds
As I’m holding on by a thread.
Walking a tight rope 50 feet from the ground wishing the wind would blow me off
Onto some rich douchebag’s BMW.
Splat.
Fall down go boom.

And yet within this self-destructively suicidal wish….
I hope that a magical safety net would fly from out of nowhere to catch me as I fall.
And I wish someone was there.
Anyone would give a fuck enough about me to hold me as I break the fuck down.

But yet here I am
Alone
Me against the world
“Fighting the good fight”
Trying every day to walk away from the darkness toward the light

Functionally suicidal I guess
As I try to live a “normal life.”

I still go to work every day
I pay my bills
I file my taxes
I write these blog posts

I try to remain as hopeful as I can.
But I’m crumbling inside.
I’m drowning
In a sea of self-doubt and regret
I’m sucked into the unrelenting quicksand of my blackened mind
Choking.
Suffocating.

I continue to willingly live with the darkest recesses of my poisoned mind.
The darkness is slowing overtaking the light.
In here everything stays the same
And nothing will ever fucking change.

I can’t fucking take this shit anymore!

So the eternal question still remains:
Should I stay or should I go?

The continually running juxtaposed narrative of wishing I was dead
Yet by finding too much beauty in the world I’ve made at least one excuse to live.

The bitter pill of truth says
I am just as worthless as I was when I was at age 16.
The sweetness of the nectar of lies says
I can survive to fight another day.

This is the co-dependent duality of my fucked up so-called life.

I don’t know how I’ve made it this far.
I don’t know why I’m still alive.

But I am.
I’m still here.

I keep going.
I keep moving.
I keep living.

And I’m still fucking standing.

I’m not sure if I’ll make it to age 65.
I’m not sure if I’ll make it to this summer
I’m not even sure if I’ll make it to tomorrow

Living on borrowed time in this temporary shell of skin and bone and blood.
Functionally suicidal I guess.

But I can try
To stay alive
To live to see another day

I have to try
To stay alive
So I can see another sunset
Or see anther sunrise.

I need to try
To stay alive
So I won’t die.

Peter is also a mental health advocate dedicated to helping people with mental illness.

In his free time, Peter is in search for the greatest taco trucks in the Pacific Northwest. Peter is a raver and PLUR warrior, video game junkie, coffee addict, and an all-around pretty cool guy. Trance, house, and techno music keeps Peter a very happy guy.

Peter lives in the greatest city on Planet Earth. The Emerald City…Seattle, Washington