Thinking about suicide again

I almost got hit by a taxi. I got angry at the driver. He got out of the taxi, he was taller, heaver, and jacked. He threatened me. We parted ways.

Some people got angry at me and went and got two police officers. That was the only time Mexican police officers have manhandled me. Citizens were yelling at me. Some were telling me to go back to me country. After twenty minutes, they let me go.

I’m hungry.

My body has been in nonstop physical pain, in multiple places, for about ten days.

I can’t get enough sleep. When I sleep, I have nightmares and I talk in my sleep. Other people in the hostel did I talk about coffins and people murdering me.

I can’t afford most of the medicines to reduce my symptoms. I can’t afford to eat properly. I can’t afford to live in safety.

I bought one medicine on Tuesday, but I had to spend six hours to get that one medicine.

I’ve found better materials for the pendulum wave—if I can make it, I might earn some money. But I don’t have money for food, shelter, or medicine, and I certainly don’t have money for more materials.

In the last five weeks or so, I’ve talked to many people about ways we can work together so I can survive. Tons of hours of effort with no results and prospects.

I stumbled on the possibility of getting some cash help, but the window of opportunity is small and it requires other people to ask for help on my behalf by using Twitter. I asked many people just to add me on Twitter. No one added me. I then asked many people to send a message on my behalf. One person.

I’m trying. I stay aware of unexpected opportunities, and I pursue them. I try to create opportunities that are within my budget and within my physical limitations, and I pursue them. I’ve been doing that for nine-and-one-half years.

But my life is agony, and all evidence supports the conclusion my life will get worse. I’d rather choose how I die than get killed by a taxi driver or by five angry guys chasing me through a cloud forest it by the twenty men who surrounded my tent in Guatemala in the middle of the night or by having my head stomped into the pavement by a guy who was angry because I told him that I knew he stole my puppy.

On 11 September 2001, people trapped in the World Trade Center killed themselves to avoid be burned alive. If you think their actions were wrong, then you are an idiot. Suicide can be a serious option. They killed themselves to avoid half an hour of agony. I’ve already endured half a decade of suffering, and my pain is increasing. If you think I’m wrong for considering suicide, then you are an idiot and a piece of shit.

I need help. I need a lot of help from a few people, or a little help from many people.

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