NEVER be yourself if you are fucked up!

It has been nearly 5 years since my brother, Buddy, decided it was time to end his life. He used a gun. He took pieces of me with him that I will never get back. He was my closest sibling emotionally, unless you count totally disliking someone an emotional connection, then the older brother is the closest.
I am not dealing well with the emotions that have come up for me around this particular anniversary. Buddy chose a life as a homeless person for many years for a number of reasons. He wanted experiences. He wanted to see the country. And I am sure he had many reasons he never shared with me. What I do know is he had a great time. He enjoyed himself. He wrote a lot, writing I hope my father will one day let me get a look at.
When he was younger, he and I shared story ideas back and forth in the mail. He would send me headlines or opening lines and I would write; I would send him opening lines, and he would write. We shared our poetry with each other. We shared our feelings about our dad. We both felt we were like him. We both felt a deep need for his attention.
Buddy was way more than my little brother, he was my friend. He inspired me, encouraged me, and accepted me. His love made me feel good and it made me feel connected to my family. Dad remarried and I have this whole other family I barely know. He helped me know them by telling me about them. He was a good brother and a good friend.
So why am I so angry with him? It isn’t just because he killed himself, although there is certainly anger over that. It isn’t that we weren’t in touch for months before he did it, although the anger about that is at me, not him. Perhaps I am mad at him for beating me to the punch. He always said it wasn’t a matter of if he killed himself, but when. I never thought he would do it before I did. I fight with those feelings every damn day of my life and have since I was a child. I first felt the need to die around the age of 6. I truly fight the feeling every day or every night. If at any time I have any emotional upset, the feelings get stronger, deeper, and harder to deal with.
Yesterday I got dumped. I am trying to find ways of dealing with the feelings that come with that. I want to die, flat out, no shit, no crying wolf. I just want to die because I know that I am never going to be well enough to be a partner to anyone. My therapist says I am wrong, but I am 49 and not getting younger. I met the person I always hoped to meet, and immediately drove her out of my life by being myself. Beware of people who tell you just to be yourself in any situation, if "yourself" is a severely damaged bag of goods. I should NEVER be myself outside of therapy because being me means being emotional, impatient, boundary crossing, and just plain annoyingly fucked up. The point of bringing up being dumped is that Buddy was pushed over the edge, and killed himself over finding out his boyfriend had been cheating on him. He died over a boy. He died of a broken heart and spirit. I am broken hearted and broken spirited. I want to die. I keep thinking that it is as easy to mourn two children on a given date as it is to mourn one. So his anniversary date is calling to me. It begs me to make it my own death day.
I am so twisted up inside. I just want to break everything breakable and trash everything else. I need to tear up all of my writing, give away all of my shit, drive somewhere in my car, and take enough pills to make saving me impossible. Part of me really wants to do it in my therapist’s neighborhood because it’s quiet there. But I can’t do that. I can’t do any of it because it is not yet my time to die. Dead inside already, my body seems to need to keep going. “You are free to create and honor any past you choose, to heal and transform your present.” Richard Bach. Nice idea, but how do I create a past that isn’t all broken and pieced together? How do I create a past without memory holes in it? I am basically always ready to run off and die over every negative emotion. I can’t see a way out. I cannot see my way to the other side. I need to find ways daily of remembering that I will hurt many others by my death. Well maybe not many others, but a few. I doubt there would be a crowd at my funeral. Maybe all of the people who don’t like me, way outnumbering those who do, could throw a party because I finally did it instead of talking about it.
I get accused of crying wolf about this whole dying thing. I guess that is because I talk about it. I talk about it to take the power out of it, but perhaps that escapes my friends. I know my friends are smart. I know they have offered me good advice at times, except that part about being myself, but they don’t seem to get that when I stop talking about it is the day I am going to do something about it.
If you are reading this, and you are tired of hearing me talk about my pain, my life, my desire to end it all, think on this for a moment, if I don’t talk about it, I am in way more danger of doing it. I’ve been good. I am not dragging my friends into my “drama” as they call it. I am not reaching out to anyone. I am writing. I write and write just to keep the thoughts from making me crazier. I know many of you don’t believe I am as sick as I am, but you are wrong. I am very disabled by my mental health issues. I am incapable of holding down a job. I am incapable of doing much but study and write.
I think I have surpassed my promise of writing for at least 4 hours today and I want to finish the book I am reading and start a new one. I am inspired by the book I am reading to write something equally as funny about my mental health. Carrie Fisher is a freaking genius with words. Who else could have written, “Instant gratification takes too long.” It’s like the best line to describe me ever. I am going to write that book. I am going to also publish my book of mental health poetry called, Inside Out. I wonder how one finds a decent literary agent. I think I am getting to the point where I need one.
Goodnight