I Shouldn't Be Here

 Part of me feels guilty as hell that I stuck around too long. Way past my time. I shouldn't be here. I don't belong here. Nearly every day brings reminders that almost everyone around me would be so much better off if I were gone. It has become more evident that they secretly wish it. I am a shadow. A bother. Worse. The other part of me is slightly reassured knowing that I don't have to wait much longer. After March, 2022, I will be past the obligatory two year minimum for life insurance to be effective upon suicide. After then, I will at least feel comfortable that my wife will be fine after I'm gone. She already knows and hates it when I bring it up. But I think she's relieved, too, that I'm not just ending it and leaving nothing behind to take care of her. That was the whole point of signing up; so she would have a safety net. So there's some comfort there, anyway. It's not that I hate myself so much. It's that I am so aggressively hated by others. So deliberately blown off as some piece of shit. Nearly every day I get this. Mostly at work. But occasionally at home, too. One can only take in so much hurt before losing it. I cannot vent to a therapist because I'll be locked up. I cannot vent so much to my wife because she prefers I shut up and hold it in. Ironically, I have no one I want to talk to as I have already made up my mind. I look forward to the endless silence, and things going dark. I'm so tired of being. I've been here way too long.