I've been thinking a lot lately--namely about my purpose in life.  I guess you could say part of my obsession with suicide is concomitant with my lack of motivation for any clear direction or understanding of such.  Don't get me wrong as you might usually do: your conversation's always welcome.  Just be aware that all conversations from my end will never be entirely submissive and may be anger-filled on occasion depending on the mood.  It was funny, as depression goes, to notice that, at one point, I intended on suicide and even journey to the Skiles Building to evaluate a suitable jump.  (I think the car idea's a bit better.)  At the next moment, I contented myself with newspaper reading then guitar playing.  It makes no sense to be at odds with myself half, and then half be at peace.  There's no logic in this.  If I didn't think differently, I'd say I've become a little mad from all this thinking and such.  So what is the purpose of the proposed suicide?  That's a good question.  I guess it's that I feel God hasn't answered my normal cries for help so that I feel the need to do something more extreme, but then again, after dismissing most godly principles and such, the feeling generalized and grafted itself onto the people I knew.  For a long time, I've had trouble trusting people because I used to be naive and paid the price for it.  Also, I easily attached myself like a leech to the most hideous of creatures at times and, even when not, brooded like a parasite over the troubles of the attention-starved, the normal, and the arrogant. 

As my mother says, I sometimes strike intimidation with my voice.  I doubt my affability in most things, especially with the pessimistic, somewhat crass attitude I have with daily happenings, especially religion and its tenants.  Where I'm unknown or unsure, I'm shy; and where I'm comfortable, the opposite takes hold.  Then again, the question of change comes back onto the table like an unforseen bet or challenge to the regulars.  After hearing of my drunken vomit episode, my mom quickly posed the question: "Why can't you go back to being the old Chris, the Chris I know?"  She even described my current behavior as the Mr. Hyde to Dr. Jekyll, to awakening displeasure. 

While it's true most of you won't understand all these things I am writing, and, if I write a suicide note, will not understand those things in its grim persona, I will have you understand one thing.  I am what I think myself to be and say likewise.  I am what I am, dying inside, and threatened by an odd world with odd people and odd truth.  If you feel these things to all be jokes, sarcastic or otherwise, you're incorrect.  Even jokes have truth, even more so is truth known when jokes are not told.  If you want to talk, I will hear anything at this point in time...