Life is funny like that. Like not kidding when I say I'd like to kill myself. My life is irony because I tell the doctor what he wants to hear so I won't be locked away. I promised myself I will die before I go back to the place that protects me from myself.
There's nothing worse than painful irony. Like Juliet having to watch her Romeo die. For her. Like the permanent strain of anticipation for my life to change any day now but the repetitious days that come in painful shock waves of disappointment are killing me. Like the suicide ward being a house of anguish. Sorry I write foward in loops. It's all I know. It's not so bad. More like tumbling down a hill. It's an easy trip.
Dad told me today that his heart stopped when he received a phone call at one in the morning from a police officer. The officer told him his car had been broken into and was very surprised that my dad was so relieved. It's funny that dad understands that any day he could get the real phone call at one in the morning some eventual night ahead. Funny that killing me is killing the only man I love. It's strange that my sense of humor evolves European out of all this.