Suicide Note

“I died a long time ago, many times, and it was you who chose not to know the new me.”

My response to someone on a suicide watch forum on Friday:

I have thought about it every day to varying degrees since I was around 10.

32 now. Happy most of the time. Have great life. Still pops in when my stalker messes with me but truly your life matters. Chill.

Dunno how old ya are. But here’s my 2 cents as I wait for the cops to show up after I texted them “Come get me, bitch” at 7am.

Here’s my advice as I lay on my couch after an early morning epidural for back pain.

Life sucks right now for ya and it may get a bit worse for a bit but it’ll get infinitely better. Then shitty for a bit. Then better. Then you’ll slip on ice and break a leg when shit finally is super-awesome which will upend your life a bunch while you learn new things about yourself and what you’re made of. But you’ll never seriously consider offing yourself after a certain point of riding the roller coaster.

Life feels awesome too. As shite as you feel, the rubber-mobian-band of time claps back the other way just as hard and if you’re one of the chosen many afflicted with a perception that includes a wider range of emotion – never forget if you kick your demons in the cock – you gradually climb that staircase; magically learning to like yourself and build a life you love and enjoy.

Or try drugs. Hookers and cocaine. Seriously. If you’re gonna seriously kill yourself, go do a bunch of non-destructive hedonistic pleasurable shit and see if you feel better after. All your money is worthless if you’re dead anyway, right?

Maybe that’s all you need, you know? Eat some magic mushrooms and sit by a campfire with a counsellor or psychologist. Throw 500 bucks at one and ask them to come trip-watch you as you find yourself in the ayahuasca.

Deal with your demons in the same such way I handled the police that visited me last eve; at the first sign of disrespect or prejudice – exclaim gloriously for them to suck on your balls. All of your balls. And your asshole. Challenge them to attack you with something other than lies and slander as you extend your double-digits-of-truth


My response to being arrested for defending myself after refusing to for so long:

Someone using my experience overseas as a CIVILIAN to tell the police I am suicidal is not only an absolute miscarriage of what our system is for – it is an abhorrent insult to the very real tragedy of veteran suicides.

Anyone using the public sentiment toward that tragedy to meddle in someone elses life and health has done something far more wrong than me screaming at a cop to suck my balls and come back with a warrant or whatever the hell I yelled at what turned out to be a pretty nice guy so far.

We will see what happens in court.


For the record I have had benign tumors all through my body, literally head to toe, that I believe to be related to my job in Kandahar supporting our armed forces.

I don’t qualify for anything related to veterans benefits and no civilian has since WWII. Nor do I feel I should qualify. I took no oath and bared no arms.

I stumbled, as a hugely vocal anti-war antiestablishmentarian hippy pothead, into a labour job in a war for profit that I didn’t believe in at the time whose role it was to save our government money on training and sending soldiers to do certain jobs and having to take care of them afterward.

If that doesn’t say everything one needs to know about our system, I dunno what does.

Imagine how super awesome it would be for me to be living in extraordinary pain and magically get qualified for Veterans Affairs because of how fucking absurd this is.

I would get the privelidge of waiting 50 years before someone tells me I am actually fucking sick from breathing in burn pits and pesticides like our government did with Agent Orange.

The US has a burn pit registry for Afghanistan and Iraq.

Why the fuck don’t we?


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