I won't buy you flowers.

"I hate my fucking life."
"I know."
"Maybe I'll have an accident on my way home from work. If I'm on my deathbed, people might have some more compassion for me."
"I seriously doubt it."
"Well, it's worth a try right?"
"Not really."
"Tree or ditch?"
"Fuck off."
"Which one... would be less likely to kill me?"
Every time the coversation goes this way, I withdraw. I just stop engaging. I'm tired of coming up with the reasons. I'm tired of trying to fix broken, desperate people. I'm fed up with giving a damn about people who care less about themselves than I do. I'm tired of being a lifeline.
"You coming to my funeral? I mean my house?"
I haven't been returning the texts. My phone rings. I silence it and throw it across the room. After a few minutes, I pick it up and listen to the short, sad voicemail. Then, I delete it. I set it down and a moment later there's another text.
"Guess you don't even give a shit."
"I'm not coming to your fucking funeral after you kill yourself. You're the one who doesn't give a shit."

I have very serious issues with suicide. I have extremely serious issues with people who like to joke about it as a way to get attention and pity from me. I understand that you're hurting and lost and crazy and sad and desperate and broken and miserable. I understand that this is one of many ways people cope with bullshit. It's not how healthy, rational people deal with it. It's not how I deal with it. But, it's how people like you choose to deal with it. I also understand that one day it won't be just something you say to get attention and pity. I understand that a thought can become reality. I understand that one day I'm going to ignore you and that it'll be the last thing we ever do together. The last thing I ever say to you might be "fuck off" and I won't take it back afterward. It scares the fuck out of me understanding and knowing and believing these things. It scares me to be completely hopeless and powerless. It saddens me to realize you're not nearly as strong as I thought. It makes me physically ill to know that I've always been the stronger one and that'll never change. It kills me to know I'll probably outlive you and that you'll die a stupid, pointless death at your own desperate hands. I also have come to accept that it's not my responsibility to constantly defuse the situation. I can't be the one person holding back the tidal wave of your self-destructive impulses. I can't be the catcher in your rye. I can't allow myself to fall into that role no matter how bad I secretly want to and - even on some desperate level - need to save you from yourself. I can't fight your battles for you. I can't kill your demons. I can't.

All I can really do anymore is draw a very solid line and refuse to cross it. I won't come to your damn funeral. I won't bring balloons and cake to your pity party. I won't cry... at least, not out of sadness. Any tears from me will be filled with salty hate. It's better that you know that in advance. I will hate you forever. I will spit on your grave. I won't romanticize who you were when you were alive. I won't relive all the amazing moments and completely disregard the bad. I won't adjust the final score in your favor. I will eventually forget your face. I won't talk about you. I won't write about you. I will delete and erase anything I already have. I will match my value of your life with your own final appraisal. I will stop caring. I will force myself to drown everything that once cared or loved for you. I will euthanize your presence in my mind and heart. I will purge your memory. I will probably vomit involuntarily and punch whatever might be within my reach. I will do terrible things, but none that compare to your own last, ridiculous act.

No, I'm not coming to your fucking funeral.