GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #39: FEAR

Last night was a pretty dark and deep entry in my GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS series. Shit usually gets pretty real around here, but it has never been so real as it was last night. For the first time since I started this nightly blog, I felt fear before hitting PUBLISH. I was actually afraid to post last night's blog.


I've never bared my soul like that before. It frightened me. In fact, I could barely sleep last night because of it. I was terrified of waking up and going online to see what people might have said about it. To my relief, no one said anything, despite the fact that a lot of you read it. Almost as much of you read about my suicidal thoughts as those of you who read about my admiration of K.M. Tepe's work at StrangeHouse, and that's a lot of fucking people.


Yet at the same time, I'm kind of scared by the lack of response. I made it clear in my post that it wasn't a cry for help, but I wasn't explicit in why I posted what I did. I thought I was, but clearly I wasn't.


A lot of people keep calling for honest discussions about all sorts of topics that are in the news these days, but when someone actually starts talking honestly, they're shunned for the most part. Sometimes, they're even ridiculed. No one actually wants to talk about suicide, because I think it hits too close to home. Everyone has gone through a period in their lives when they thought about offing themselves, but it's so terrifying that no one wants to talk about it. When someone does, people respond by talking shit. Or they come out with bullshit platitudes. Or they . . . well, they ignore the person.


Here is the place for an honest discussion about suicide. No one will deride you here. No one will talk shit. If they do, I promise to block them.


Personally, I let things fester inside of me. I know that's not healthy, but when I was a kid, it was beaten into me that I should act like a man, whatever that might mean, and ignore these stupid emotions. To this day, I am a cold fucker, because some subconscious part of me keeps expecting to have my ass kicked for talking about how I really feel. It's a thing I'm trying to work on now that I'm approaching middle-age.


I, of all people, know it's hard to not let things fester. I opened up last night, and I'm still scared as I type these words now. If you've ever felt suicidal, here's the place to talk about it. Let it out. Let us help you. What I did last night was a public service announcement.


If you're uncomfortable posting here, DM me on Facebook or on Twitter. Or email me at tabardinnedgewoodent@yahoo.com. If I can help, I will bend over backwards for you.