Why I Committed Twittercide

I just couldn't handle it anymore. I had no choice but to off myself. It's a serious subject, and I shouldn't make fun, but in a way I have no other viable choice. It's either laugh or cry, and I am just so tired of crying.

So last week was really rough in my life--hard at work, hard at home, worst of all possible worlds. By the time Saturday rolled around, I was done with stress. I just wanted to stay home, put my feet up, maybe get a little sex from my man. None of that looked like it was going to happen, so I flipped. I tweeted some things that could have sounded a little suicidal.

Am I really suicidal? That's a complicated question. I don't think I am legitimately going to kill myself. I don't really want to die. I just want some of the horrible feelings to die sometimes. I really do understand the difference.

I knew what I was tweeting at the time and I knew there was a chance that some who read my tweets could become alarmed. In retrospect, I feel like an inconsiderate little douche. Still, the twittercide did, in a sense, provide me with the catharsis that seemed to have shocked me, at least for now, out the funk I was in.

I've never really thought of myself as a drama whore, but my behavior recently should probably make me reconsider my own self-perception.

If you followed me before and you no longer wish to follow me, rest assured I understand and I do not think worse of you. For those who do choose to follow me this time around, I thank you for hanging around.

Tweet ya' later.