Thank god for Suicide

 
I don't capitalize god.  If he or she doesn't like it, he or she can put a lightning bolt through my head.  Come on, god!  I dare ya!  I dare you to put a lightning bolt through me head.  Yeah, that's what I thought.  Kiss my ass.
Anyway, suicide is a necessary evil.  I'm so glad it exists.  It's always there: 24 hours a day and 7 days a week.  I can end my pain at any time.  It's a real comfort to know I can do it, and I can do it in a number of ways.  Variety is the spice of life (and death).  I've pondered suicide quite a bit.  I know it's ugly.  I don't want to do it.  But, according to my beliefs, it effectively ends pain.  One of the things that keeps me from doing it is imagining my body trying to survive.  I think of suicide as the mind killing the body.  The mind attempts to kill the body, but the body struggles to survive.  It thrashes around on the end of a noose and tries to not drown.  Everyday, I try to take good care of my body.  I hate the thought of killing it.  So I don't want to kill myself.  But life sucks.  I don't understand how people can start a whole business by printing "Life is good." on T-shirts (and whatnot) and be successful.  Life is not good.  I feel like I'm living in a Twilight Zone episode.  Most people are miserable, but they say they're happy and life is good. 
Another example of a necessary evil is abortion.  I was definitely born too late.  If I had been conceived in 1974 (or later), I probably would have been aborted.  I would have avoided so much pain: past, present, and future.  I was the unwanted result of teenage sex.  I'm pro-choice.  Countless people have avoided unfathomable amounts of pain because their lives were nipped in the bud.  Because I've had so little sex, and some luck, I've never gotten a woman pregnant.  It really is important to always be learning and progressing.  I saw an excellent documentary on abortion.  I thought I was all for it.  Then I saw the aftermath of one.  I saw the baby body parts on the doctor's tray.  I saw an arm and a head with at least one eye.  It didn't make me agree with the pro-life people, but it helped me understand them more.  Abortion is necessary, but it's ugly.     

The Wound that Never Heals

She probably doesn't have a father either.  Mama groundhogs usually chase them away.

I don't have a father.  He isn't dead (as far as I know).  He just doesn't give a damn about me.  I'm 45, and I haven't heard from him since I was a teen.  I am the result of a teen pregnancy.  It happened in 1968, so a legal abortion wasn't an option.  My parents got married.  My father left my mother and me when I was 2 years old.  I didn't see him many times at all after that.  My mother got custody.  I think he had no interest in seeing me.  I was just a mistake he made when he was young.  I believe my Nana, his mother, tried to get us together, but it didn't happen very often.  I have no idea where he lives, what he does, or what his phone number is.
When I was younger, I felt sorry for myself for not having a father.  I did  some complaining about it.  I came to realize nobody likes a whiner.  So I stopped complaining, which solved nothing.  Something we learn to not be is a bitcher, whiner, or a complainer.  No one wants to be called one of those things.  But this leads to more suffering.  People pretending that life is wonderful, that it isn't hard and doesn't suck, enables others to continue the madness by bringing more and more people into the world.  We're taught to not complain.  So many people are miserable, but they keep it to themselves.  It's important for me to be real.  I'll say or write what I want to about not having a father, and if someone wants to call me a whiner or a complainer, I'll deal with them how I see fit.   
Not having a father is the wound that never heals.  I'm constantly reminded that many people have had great fathers who have helped them all their lives.  That is definitely not my experience.  I actively avoid books and movies that deal with father/son relationships.  I try to forget (as much as I can) that people have decent fathers.  I watched Silver Linings Playbook yesterday.  I really enjoyed it.  Regardless, it took me out of the movie somewhat to see that the main character still had his father in is life, even though he was a grown man.
I hate when Father's Day comes around.  You can't watch TV without being reminded of it.  The only thing my father deserves for Father's Day is poop in a box.
I've never brought someone into this world, and I'm proud of that.  So many, animals and humans, have suffered in this brutal world.  Not wanting to be like my parents, I'm terrified of sex.  I'm afraid of getting a woman pregnant.  This is probably why I didn't have sex from the ages of 27-44.  And when I had sex last year, it wasn't worth it; it sucked.                        

Danny Rolling (part 2)

Danny Rolling

 I had been sort of fascinated by the serial killer Danny Rolling.  He wasn't like other serial killers.  With exceptions like Ted Bundy, they seem to target so-called "easy targets" like prostitutes.  Sadly, they are less likely to be missed, and they voluntarily put themselves into unsafe situations.  Rolling was different in that sense, because he killed 5 students at the University of Florida in Gainesville.  Pretty young college students aren't supposed to be killed by a maniac with a knife, which is what Danny Rolling was at that point.  He broke into their apartments at night, he raped them, killed them, and mutilated them.
I just finished a book about the murders called Beyond Murder.  It was a good read; I went through it pretty quickly.  I'd say I'm no longer fascinated with Danny Rolling anymore, though.  I pretty much knew most of the gory details already.  One of the things that interested me about him was his music.  During a TV show about him, they played a snippet of one of his songs: "mystery rider, what's your name?  You're a killer, a drifter gone insane."  It sounded good.  Obviously, he had some interesting things to write about.  I read, in the book, that he was talented enough of a musician and songwriter that someone wanted to record him.  But Danny Rolling never showed up for the appointment.  He had problems.  His father didn't want him, but his wife refused to get an abortion.  So his father hated him.  He beat the crap out of him.  It seems like he never loved, or even liked, him.
Danny Rolling was also depressed, as so many people are.  One of the reasons why he killed the amount of people that he did was because he did some very hard time at a plantation-type prison.  The conditions him and his fellow inmates had to endure were very harsh.  In Danny Rolling's case, it didn't work out very well.  He vowed to kill someone for each year he spent at that prison.  So maybe it's not a good idea to inflict cruel and unusual punishment on inmates; it could create monsters.  
Danny Rolling was big, 6'2", and strong.  He lifted weights.  He liked to walk around with a large knife strapped to his leg.  I have tried to imagine the terror his victims experienced at the crime scenes.  It's nothing pretty.  Rolling was a real-life horror-movie monster.
Also, today I bought some walnuts, still in the shell, for my squirrel neighbors.