I feel peaceful when not caring if I die. No worries about money, friends, the future, people lying to me, getting AIDS. I get depressed, then don't care if I die, which brings me some peace, then I think I'd rather live. It's become a way of coping. When I want some peace and relief, I think of dying.
While homeless I discovered how to not care. I didn't want to work at a boring job, so I had no money for rent. I stayed with friends, until they saw that I wasn't making an effort to get my own place. Then I'd find someone else to stay with. When he got tired of having me around, there'd usually be someone else.
Some nights I slept outside on the ground, which had me feeling close to Earth and Nature. I didn't think about eating, imagining starvation a painless way to die. I hitchhiked around, going wherever the drivers took me, taking whatever they'd give.
I depended on others to take care of me. But if they didn't and I died, that would have been OK. And it would have been OK if they drugged me, cut my body into pieces and buried them in the backyard.
Awaiting my death, souls of this life come around for maybe the last time. There are many: the people on TV, the train engineer blowing his horn, the neighbor's barking dog, a wrong number and, of course, the guys wanting to fuck me.
