Leaving San Francisco completed my disconnection. No, that was only the first half of completing the disconnection. Coming to New Jersey completes the disconnection. All of my life in San Francisco has been rendered unreal. New Jersey was rendered unreal a long time ago, yet here I am – is it not real? How much more of a fool am I going to prove to myself to be?

These people are not my family. Any number of descriptives might apply, but they certainly shouldn't be considered family. I have nothing against them, I don't criticize them, I harbor no resentment, they just have absolutely nothing to do with me. Except that I'm now living under their roof. :/

It occurs to me that they have been doing basically the same thing, day in and day out, for the past 30 or so years (although in the past several years they've started going on vacation twice a year, always organized tours)! And they enjoy it. They enjoy their work. They enjoy work. They enjoy their routine. I can't hold that against them, but it is confounding. They have nothing in their lives, nothing to their lives other than work, and then spending money as the manifestation of the fruits of their labor. No passion, no deeper inquiry. Good for them.

I don't know if they have any religious inclinations, but they just might be atheists, and if so, they would be Zen atheists! And I am convinced that if I killed myself, the impact would be visceral at first, but it would fade and pass, and they would get through it largely unaffected. They love me in their own way, but what a bizarre way it is, and it's the result of their world view. I feel like I've just discovered a new philosophical species. And I thought I was way out there!

Coming to New Jersey completes the disconnection because it forces me back into the situation that started this whole horrible mess that is my life. It was horrible, I hated it here. This is why I cut, this is why I'm suicidal. I don't get depressed, I get angry, and I take it out only on myself. It's unconscionable to take it out on someone else directly. I had almost forgotten. I had forgotten. But the situation is completely different now, and while surrounded by the memories and the demons, it's just not real, I have to float up, I have to float on, I have to float down, I have to float away, I have to not exist.

I can't move on because I can't admit anymore that I hate these people. I hate these people and it's total bullshit that they love me. I've only been humoring people by acknowledging they love me. They don't because they can't, they don't know the meaning of the word. They can't be affected by my death if they can't be affected by my life. I'm a fool for still being alive. To the extent of who I am to me, but also for even thinking of them as a consideration.

Well, one big difference between now and a month ago is that no one will have to deal with the stuff I left behind. If I kill myself now, there are no other parties that would have to deal with anything. My parents can save face and not deal with anyone else, and they can shortly resume their routine of 30 or so years.

The final plan, deviating only slightly from the plan of the attempts, was to leave my apartment with a bottle of sleeping pills by 7:30 P.M. I'd take the 9 San Bruno bus about a mile to the transfer point for the 23 Monterey bus. At that point, if I didn't have one already, I could cross the street and get a bottle of Jack Daniels from Beverages & More. I'd take the 23 Monterey bus to Sloat Avenue, and I'd get off at the small mall way out in the Avenues. I would go to the Big 5 sports store at the mall and get a toy boogie board for $15, where I'd gotten one before and lost during the last attempt. From there I would either walk or take the 18 Parkside bus to John Muir Drive where there is coast access, and I'd walk to the beach, and unlike before, I wouldn't allow any waiting time. I'd immediately take all the sleeping pills, wash them down with Jack Daniels, and dive into the surf on the boogie board and paddle as hard as I could for as long as I could. The boogie board has a line you can tie to your wrist or ankle so you don't lose it. I'd hang on to it loosely in my hand so that I didn't lose the board, but once the sleeping pills took effect, I could let go of it. The alcohol would affect me immediately, but it's effect would be countered by adrenaline. It would take about 20 minutes to really start feeling the sleeping pills, and I would either drown or die of hypothermia. Ideally, this would be done at or just after high tide. There's no guarantee that whatever's left wouldn't wash up somewhere, but the hope would be that there would be no remains.

There would be considerable differences trying this on the East Coast.

I guess believing I'd change was naive.