The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is Now Available

Hey, folks.

The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is now available. It is also free to Kindle Unlimited users.

ebook cover for The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal

Suicide has many forms.

The tale of Bob and his asinine ways of killing himself are readily available for all to read. It is cool to reread something, whether it is your friends or your work. It also offers reflection: state of mind, memories, thoughts, and so on.

Suicide has been in my life for a long time now. It has affected myself, my family, and a lot of my friends. This “group” is not even 1% of what goes on in the world. Whether it’s homeless folk, students, celebrities, military, hell, even animals. It’s in our lives, sometimes staring at us right in the face. Most folks though turn a blind eye or sweep it under the rug. Alternatively, folks will jump on the bandwagon after a famous person’s death (i.e., Robin Williams, Chester Bennington, Chris Cornell, etc.) and it’s just an “Oh, hey, yeah I care…” Then they stop and fall off. It shouldn’t take a well-known person’s death to stoke the fire. It’s all around us; it could claim your family, friends, either directly or indirectly. Everyone’s affected.

I’ve struggled for years with PTSD, depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts. I’ve done the medicinal routine (didn’t work) and figured one day, somewhere, someone else has it just as bad. I can’t pray for something to be done. I can’t change anything that happened, and I sure as hell can’t do anything if I am sitting around. That was the beginning of the change. It was a domino effect, because then I started to quit smoking, stop drinking soda, and eating better. The depression and dark thoughts were (and are) still there…just a lot more manageable, and under control. My temperament is vastly superior to what it once was, and overall I feel a lot better about myself. I like myself. Before? I used to hate myself. Big change.

Writing helped fill in some of the voids that I felt. It helped purify my thoughts and channeled them into something that I wanted to pursue eventually. Thus, this story, even though it may seem pointless and dumb to one, it is a sort of projection of thoughts any one person can experience and something we do.

When I transitioned out-of-state and was left with the feeling of having no real friends (that I left behind), and combating alcoholism (which, alcohol with depression + anxiety + PTSD = Not Bueno), I was beside myself. Nowadays, even in prior generations, the man must be “a man.” You know, don’t cry, don’t show emotion, be tough; the stereotype that was set up for us so many generations ago. So I kept a lot of my thoughts and feelings in. I hardly shared how I felt, I would try to bear a lot, and just be. It was unhealthy.

Finally, I got back into writing and found a great therapist. After which, while seeing my new therapist, I had then begun a process of “killing myself.” That is, writing down ways I would kill myself, or ideas that I had thought of. Thus, The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal was born and is what is available today.

So, I invite you to pick up a copy and read your heart out. If you like/love it, excellent; alternatively, If you hate it, well, that’s your choice. Life is full of them.

I will still be continuing to donate and advocate Suicide Prevention and Suicide Awareness, so when you purchase a copy, it’s going to go and help people in return.

That’s about all for now. I wish you all well.

Until next time,

RJM

 

 

 

P.S. If someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, talk with them. Don’t disregard their thoughts on the matter. You can also refer them to the Suicidal Prevention Lifeline1-800-273-8255
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Look: A Lovecraftian Horror Short

Look: A Lovecraftian Horror Short

By Robert J. S. T. McCartney

 

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Picture by VViktor

 

My voice is silenced. My breath is still. I cannot look to my left. I see something…maybe even someone… there… lurking. They’re shrouded in mystery. How they came into my chambers, I do not know. By morning’s light, I pray them gone, and this nothing more than a nightmare.


I am afraid.

It remains. Curiosity piques me. However, I dare not look left. It could be many of a thing—things. An entity, born not of this world, but from the void of the cosmos. Darkness covers it wholly, save for strange fluctuations of what may be its eyes. Still, I am to remain here. Someone will surely come for me.


I am… frightened.

One of the clergymen came to me, but I sent them away. The mysterious stranger—they…it…tells me things. Things that do not make sense; they cannot, they remark absurdities. I close my eyes and nod my head in acknowledgment. Hoping to appease it—that by chance they may go away. Please, let this nightmare end!

Still, it lingers. Still, it stares into the very being of my soul. It’s eyes—black eyes (I think it to be; of my peripheral vision. No, no, I dare not look) fixated on mine.

I see movement. From the darkness. Fluid, graceful. Ah, so majestic. No, no, I mustn’t…I mustn’t look!

It speaks to me. It’s…indescribable—the words. They’re profound, and nothing of this world. “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”

Terror grips me now, and I am frozen. May the light from the morning come and save me from this plight!


I am contemplative.

A day or so has passed and so have the whisperings. Truth be told, I am saddened by the departure of such a mysterious visitor. I never saw them. Still, there is something, there, that lingers in that place where they once stood. I cannot quite put my finger on what.


I am contempt.

They’ve returned! While I was reading some scriptures at my desk, they appeared beside me.  They speak to me now. Their voice is as if a choir of angels was playing a heavenly symphony. Ah, and so beautiful are the words. They promise of an everlasting place and that I have been chosen. Me! Me… A proud man. One of the people. They claim they know me well, and that I have caught their eye. That my spiritual works have warranted their guise and I am to be justly rewarded! Thus, they have visited me and personally offered at His feet.


I am…heartfelt.

My heart is full, and I swell with the belief of His will that has at last chosen me to be His herald. Those once strange words and mutterings that were—so hard—to understand are now fluent and so precise, and second nature; only to eating and sleeping. Still, I dare not look, for I might sully their sight and perhaps disgust them with my mortal shell.


I am dedicated!

The return is nigh! He is coming! He has awakened! Ah, at last everyone will finally see with their own eyes the majesty that is His! The blessed will finally revel and be brought to His house. Such splendor! I cannot wait to share this with the congregation!

I must look…I must!


I am…not quite myself…these days.

My eyes are dark and grow darker. My skin has become gray and rough. T’is the start of His blessing I am informed.

We are all that remain… He and I. The congregation—nay, the village was…not so quick to welcome and accept Him. Rest assured, they paid for their blasphemy with blood. He has been most pleased with my continued service. As such, He has vowed to bless me fully.

These new voices that have come to me tell me that what I did was wrong. That I ate children’s brains, hearts, and strung their intestines around like some misshapen scarf. Pah! Nonsense, I say! The elders and fellows of the clergy tried to intervene, but once I showed them they worshipped a false god—once I showed them His image and He brought down His gaze, they were quick to please. He significantly enjoyed driving them to the path of righteousness; to cleanse them of their sins you see. It was such a spectacular sight. Their flesh and blood will nourish us well for some time.

I have looked and seen the end; humanity was made to serve—to serve Him.

Today, I am to be fully converted by Him.


I…am…terror.

[The rest of the text is illegible and cannot be deciphered]

You can also check out great reading material for a cost of a king size candy bar with the A.B.Normal Publishing and Media Group Black Friday Extravaganza!

Help Support Suicide Awareness and Prevention With Bob

Hey, folks.

The release of The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is fast approaching, but first I want to talk about Suicide Awareness and Prevention and why it’s important to me.

ebook cover for The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal

One reason why I wrote this story originally was that it was an outlet to drop a lot of my dark thoughts. Personally, I struggle with PTSD, anxiety, depression, and have had plenty of suicidal thoughts…and attempts. Now, of course, I am glad that they weren’t successful and all that hubbub, but what about those who are still fighting?

There is someone we know who has lost someone they’ve loved to suicide. Whether it be family, friends, co-workers; the cycle goes on…and it’s vicious. It doesn’t relent, nor does it stop with just those who have left. While I have plenty of things I deal with and fight myself over, there are many who struggle day to day. It can be crippling. While everyone’s experience is different, we must know we are not alone.

The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal is more than just a telling of Bob’s misadventures, his quips, humor, and bouts with suicide. It’s putting suicide there, right in front of us. Making death very visible. Though, in a fictional aspect, you’re seeing what becomes of a man who’s very twisted and has lost his way. It’s about finding yourself, getting the help you need.

Help is something we all need. Whether it’s a small gesture or grand. My primary focus is on our veterans. So many of them come home suffering from the loss of their comrades, their family is torn apart, or disfigured from a wartorn land. That’s why I am donating to Mission 22 in support of helping our veterans get the help they need. I am also donating ALL pre-order sales of the Kindle edition of the story to Mission 22 as well. The donations will be sent out in December. For Paperback and hardcover copies sold, I will donate 22% continuing on.

I invite you to join the fight against Suicide and to stand together. To let others know they are not alone. Together, we can truly help one another.


“Not all those who wander are lost.” — J. R. R. Tolkien

All That is Gold Does Not Glitter


I wish you all to have a happy and safe holiday season. To all the men and women serving (and who have served), thank you for your service.

Until next time,

RJM

 

 

P.S. If someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, talk with them. Don’t disregard their thoughts on the matter. You can also refer them to the Suicidal Prevention Lifeline1-800-273-8255

My Fantasy

My Fantasy

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

Lust. Love. Sex. Drugs. Power.
So many fantasies we, as people, do we create by the hour.

We fake.
We break.
We quit, wilt, and die.

Too often are we forced to bend a knee or be pressed down onto the firm mattress and be ravaged by life’s atrocities.

In my time, I’ve been led to a world wonder. Where I’ve experienced an intimate relationship between lovers: life and death.
Caught often in a lie, as we lie entangled in a mess of sheets and heat.

Where do we profess and confer our love and become engorged on each other.
Tasting a sample but taking the package, we wallow in this momentous excitement.

Ten years, it’s been ten years since I’ve become gluttonous on this punch drunk love diet.

Where sometimes there were suppliers of supplements that offered a chance at a change of heart and soul.
Opinions made and traded, save for those whose face was a cancer in our alleged “detestable and fictitious” love affair.

Savage, were they and the threats made, we moved far. Where we ought, and brought not the reprehensible acts, nor stayed the course of that which tarnish our voyage.

Still do, I feel the same; still do I look you in the eye; still, do I feel the fire within.
Still does my heart beat; still does my breath stop; still, does my heart belong to you and only you.

For there are many fantasies that we experience every hour…
But none may compare to the one I live every passing moment I am with you, nor can words be formed into the sentences to describe the euphoria; yet bittersweet life I spend with you.

For I know… that one day it’ll end. Therein lies, though, hope…
That I’ll find you again in the waking mortal world.

For my wife on our 10th anniversary. —Rob

One More Light

One More Light

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

It happened again. The dream where trillions of stars went out in the night sky. One by one, then dozens, until finally, all that remained was the full moon that slowly faded to nothing. The icy chill of nothingness wrapped its fingers around us all. Something we, as a whole—as humans, were not accustomed to. Sharing the same fate, the same grief. The light of the universe had gone out. There was no hope left. There was only death.

As I stared around, I saw people running rampant in the streets. The only light that lit up the sky was the faint glowing of city streets and raging fires. I thought it funny in a way. All the times we spent polluting the air with fake images, adverts, lights and otherwise that masked the beauty of the universal splendor that encompassed us. We were but a drop in the ocean. Now, though, the ocean had dried up.

I was gifted with an unusual ability. The one I didn’t understand, at least at the time. Now that the sun had died and the rest of the universe had gone dark, we were probably the only place left in existence that dared defy the darkness. I thought, so very like us; to confront, challenge and try to fight against the odds. Sadly, it wouldn’t be something we could ever hope to win.

The planet was beginning to freeze, and casualties were already high. Many countries resulted just ending it all by nuclear war. A lot of people committed their last acts of sin, proclaimed their love to their significant others and families, killed themselves, murdered other people. Observing it was hard, though enduring it was as hard.

I spoke of a gift that I possessed. On the day of my death, I said goodbye to my wife and kids. I was jettisoned from my body. I traversed in spirit through a blue-white portal that took me to the realm of the living…in another universe. I opened my eyes and looked around. Indeed, I was alive. How I could not tell you.

Then there came the telltale signs of the end to which I bore witness to. I tried to reason with my family and friends. I tried telling everyone. I tried social media, blog posts, anything I possibly could. I was called a liar, a crazy person, banned from church, labeled as insane, and that I should have my children taken away from me, and my wife divorce me.

Weeks before NASA had some reports that said stars in various solar systems were dying at a rapid rate and that it was spreading fast. I had sat with my wife and kids when I watched the announcement and had a grin on my face. I had told them all the truth, but none would listen.

On the evening of when the stars went out as I had once experienced it, I told my wife and kids that I would see them again. I gave them an embrace and like before; I left my body. My physical form dropped to the ground, and I was sent to another universe.

I had stopped counting how many Earths I have visited. Each time, I felt like I was getting more and more lost with why I have such a gift. What purpose was there in my ability? What good was it if I can’t save my family, friends, let alone humanity? I don’t want to be a hero…I only want to be with my family. I don’t want to carry our problems to the next world, where it seemingly already exists. So many thoughts, hypotheticals and such flooded my racing mind as I traversed universes.

While I was lost in thought, I could have sworn I saw myself but dismissed it as a possible reflection of time, since it seemed like a mirrored hallway when I’d reach the precipice of traveling from one point to another. I shook my head and disregarded it as just a coincidence.

At last, I came to a universe where the light was still lit. Our world, however, was nothing like it was when I had left. Irradiated and in a unique stasis field, where only our solar system existed. However, humans had become disfigured and decrepit—resembling the walking dead, but with our typical wit and sense.

I noted the surrounding and how familiar it was to me.

“How did you get here?” a raspy woman’s voice inquired.

“The light in this universe hasn’t gone out yet?” I replied.

The woman shook her head. “It has. Our solar system is the only one left in the Darkness.”

“What happened then?” I asked.

The woman’s black eyes looked to the ground and then back to my eyes. “A man came from another time with a gift that could provide us with new lives,” she gestured with his hands, “this is what became of us. He, however, has been gone for some time.”

She cleared her throat and asked again where I came from.

“I come from another time. Where the Darkness, as you so call it, took place,” I said.

The woman nodded. “A lot of people died you know.”

I nodded in reply. “I know, I was there until I finally started traveling.”

The woman began to weep.

“What’s wrong,” I asked her.

She wiped away a murky tear and gave a broken smile. “We never once stopped believing you’d find us again.”

 

 

 

This was also posted on A.B.Normal Publishing and Media Group.

Hanging on to a Thought

Even though you’re gone,
We’ll keep moving on.
You’ll be another thought—a memory,
Someone who was just like me.

You should hear the things that they say
That you “quit and threw it all away.”

That “you didn’t care about the rest world,”
“Selfish. Good riddance.” Other “sentiments” hurled.

Though, I know that you’re somewhere around,
Safely watching all the things that will become unbound.

They say it’s a joke, a cop-out, and easy to quit,
“Live. Let love.  C’mon, man, take another hit.”

To leave behind all that you love and make a great escape,
When we live and breed in a world full of greed and hate.

For when the demons have finally won, what more is there to say?
“Why did you give up. Why didn’t you stay?”

So often we say that we’re fine,
Debating, procrastinating, biding my time.

When will it be?
All this misery…

Too many times I’ve put it all down,
Not to let myself be consumed, pulled under and drown.
Letting others know that it’s not my time to go.
And though I smile and try to be strong,
My thoughts, they’re dark; caged, I don’t know how long.

Eventually, the dam will break,
All that has been locked away—will I wake?

It’ll be a day where there’s no preparation,
Maybe then we can have our conversation.

In the end, we die alone,
But in life we’re lights, shone.
To each other in the dark,
We guide one another, looking for our spark.

And so your story might have ended,
Those who are lost will continue to be tended.
Our invisible wounds from which that we bleed,
All the pain and agony inside which has sown its seed.

We’re not alone in our daily struggle,
But the world makes it harder to “love your neighbor.”
Frowned upon and looked down on,
Being called “a freak,” and “you should kill yourself.”

The problem isn’t us or those that already hurt,
It’s those that antagonize and do so spurt—
Content and think they’re “safe” behind their computer screen,
When they’ve never even met you or me.

So I understand why you felt you had to go,
I only wish you could have lived to see life so.

What wonders that maybe… the world will bring,
Even if though we’ll never hear you sing.

…Again…

Comfortably numb do I exist,
Still, I’ll fight and continue to resist.
The darkness and horror that lives within,
So that maybe others can be helped—that they can see what life’s like when it begins.


Rest easy, and thanks for all you’ve done.

This was also published on www.abnormalpublishing.com

A Poem: Bedtime

Bedtime

By Robert J. S. T. McCartney

As I lie here and rest my head
Next to you, where we’ve made our bed

In the dark, where my eyes dare play tricks
My view obscured by the plight of the night

The light, faint and ever growing tired, it mimics
A heart, and lungs, breathing

I often worry, though
That, how of which you lie
Restful slumber; your silhouette
Is as much as death, forever sleeping

So I cling and often toss and turn
Waking to the demons that dare try to come and take you away;
Wildly swinging, and shooing them tirelessly
“Begone, pest from another plane!” I growl

And so I’ll fight until my eyes do tire
The morning light comes, and then you stir
Then I can rest until the night comes again

As long as I have you by my side
I’ll try and try, defend and brave against the darkness and the demons that lurk

Otherwise…

I’m nothing without you
I can sleep when I eventually die

For my wife.

A Novelette: The Crystal Manor’s Secret

The Crystal Manor’s Secret

“Time heals all wounds,” he remembered someone saying. He thought it to be horse shit.

Simon is a 14-year-old dealing with plenty of things: depression, suicide attempts, parental issues, and being the subject of plenty of kids’ jokes at school. His parents take the advice of their son’s psychiatrist and go on a family vacation to the fabled Crystal Bay Estate.

This family trip, however, is anything but helpful. Read on to read the story in its entirety. Continue reading

A Poem and Post: Time

I have a story outlined in my massive stack of “Untold Tales: Volume X.” One of them, in which I will actually be finishing up here soon, is something along the lines of a double-edged sword. It’s sweet. It’s terrifying. It’s loving and caring. It’s selfish and damming. The end is coming, and life as we know it will cease to be. One man’s vision and in all of his smarts creates a time stasis field where he can live out the rest of his life with his family until the True End comes.

It probably sounds confusing because when you start involving time and getting all “timey-wimey.”

So, I figured I would have a piece dedicated to the inevitable friend and foe of us all, next to death. Time. It’ll appear again, soon.

There will be new things coming up as well as far as writings (or musings. . .whatever have you. . .) goes.

Until next time,

RJM


Time

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

My greatest enemy and my most cherished friend.
Grandfather, father, husband, brother; bringer of the end.

You’ve watched me grow from afar.
You’ve shown me what life has to offer.

Lies.
Truth.

Beginning.
End.

That it is continuous, whether we are in it or not.
That we can exist, be remembered, and our lives forgot—

—Ten years it’s almost been.
Nothing more than a drop in the endless sea.

I’ve lived, yeah, I’ve seen,
What this mortal life has yet to bring.

You are my enemy and my friend.
Still, I will welcome you, all of you, at the end.

 

Poem: Black

Black

by Robert J. S. T. McCartney

All these scenes I’ve painted black,
To hide the pain, I’ve yet to have attack—

Me; nay, us, for the day will eventually come,
An assassin lying in waiting, where it shall strike from?

They say to “go in faith” and “take this tome,”
Tis often true, tragedy strikes close to home.

Where I’ve found myself on my back,
crippled from a fall; an attempt to snap—

My neck, my limbs, my life. . .broken,
The words I’ll never utter, never spoken.

As darkness comes and overwhelms what I see,
I know you’ll never understand who I really was. . .me.

“It’s better this way” I once thought,
To give up, that it’s all for naught.

However, I’ve learned that there is much more, to this thing called life.
And that is why I am so happy to have you as my wife.

Though, I fight, the right and wrong; with the light and dark,
I know you’ll be there to guide me along the way, on this journey we embark.

For I now see, I was selfish and wrong,
That alone, I was weak but together, we are strong.

The scenes will become clear, and on that day, we may weep,
For when one goes down to eternal sleep.

That’s alright because at least we will be there,
No one else, with nothing left to care.


This was originally posted on A.B.Normal Publishing’s site.