Not much new today. I'm depressed even after a poke. I started watching a movie about a writer who gains literary success for his first book, but the rest of his books are flops, and he ends up killing himself. So typical. I could see that ending coming a mile away. I gave up on Television and started reading Wild Boys by Burroughs again. Wild Boys isn't my favorite book, but its better than whats on TV. Every half hour I start to cry. I'm going to Chicago in a few hours, and I don't know if I can make the voyage. Plus the contact down there hasn't called me back to tell me if things are ready. I'm buying a rather large amount. 200 dollars worth. Almost two grams. I've been thinking of offing myself with this batch. It calms me down to think about the idea of killing myself. It makes me anxious to know I don't have the guts.
I need to shower, but can't bring myself to do so. I hate getting wet. Then having to let my hair dry. Perhaps I'll have another poke, and things will seem better. I use the word seem, because in reality things are shit, but with a chemical enhancement things seem less shitty.
I keep putting my head in my hands. When I sigh I then inhale I can smell my own scent. I'm not so dirty as to stink. I just smell what my dog smells on me, a lot less intense though.
Let me go through my suicide fantasy. First my dad leaves for Arizona on Thursday. I'm left alone with Eleanor. I put out enough food for Eleanor until a week from Friday. I clean the whole house meticulously. I get really high on Friday night. I stay up 24 hours. I write my note, leaving behind my last request along with the songs I want played at my funeral. All Elliott Smith songs. I feel they are soft, depressing songs, great for a funeral. I put out two pee pee pads for Eleanor so she has a place to go potty while I lie on floor dead. At noon on Friday I take an overdose of Clonazepam, Ambien, and Heroin, plus Methadone, I die an half hour to an hour later. Poor Eleanor doesn't understand what's going on. She probably lays by my cold body. After a few days of my parents calling they call the police to check on me. My body is found, and I'm starting to decompose. Perhaps Eleanor has eaten parts of me. My parents come back to plan my funeral, Eleanor has someone to take care of her. (I thought about killing Eleanor with me, but I think that's even more selfish than killing myself)
Don't worry, I'm not going to do it.