The Holiday Blues
Those that are down and out in some capacity find that the hardest time to keep nose above the frothy surface is during the holiday season when every newspaper ad, every TV commercial, every store and every window display centers on “the spirit of the holidays”. Every establishment you walk into has piped-in Christmas music and all the radio stations started playing the same Christmas songs over and over even before the last Hershey’s kiss was dropped into the last plastic pumpkin on Halloween night.
Depression – specifically, suicidal type depression, is sometimes thought to be at its zenith this time of year, and it reaps a bountiful harvest of those who cannot withstand the overpowering crush of not possessing the spirit of the season that surrounds and punctures their psyche with daggers of unimaginable guilt, sticky, black sorrow and a feeling of zero gravity helplessness.
Quick facts about suicide: men do it violently, such as with a gun; women do it quietly, such as with pills. In the Healthcare field one saying still remains true – callers never jump, jumpers never call. You know one of them. Maybe you know two of them. Most likely they’ll be the ones who smile and laugh in order to fit in, and have a slightly detached ambiance about them.
Better Off Dead
A last lugubrious lament filled with torment. This is the blaring, hot, painful truth from a man who has come to realize that this is not the time for lies or half-truths. He’s been that route and for once in his life he’s going to come clean of conscience. He berates himself passionately, brutally, mercilessly, and justly so. He also freely gives due where it belongs – much too late.
There is no penance for him here after this, his last confession. He’s come face to face with the stinging, teary-eyed reality that he cannot go back.
More somberly and to the point, he cannot go forward either.
Ah, she gave the most, took the least,
And even have the priest come to our home.
And I cried and prayed and promised,
That I’d leave the stuff alone.
Now I must leave what I can’t face,
I hope she’ll find her key to happy home.
Hey, she’s better off without me!
And I’m better off dead now that she’s gone.
Think I’m Going To Kill Myself
This is a whimsical, capricious, tap dancing on the razors edge flirting with life or death. A honky-tonk banter with the Grim Reaper where built up adolescent angst is convinced that the only rational way left to “I’ll show them” would be to die. A give and take, pro versus con, serious but silly, theatrical show of “do you dare me?” that might come to fruition just to show you that I’m serious. But is there anyone who does know with certainty if he will or if he will not? Does anyone take that bet? Is he bargaining with us, or God to call his bluff?
I'm getting bored.
Being part of mankind.
There's not a lot to do no more.
This race is a waste of time.
People rushing everywhere,
Swarming around like flies.
Think I'll buy a forty-four,
Give them all a surprise!
Think I'm gonna kill myself.
Cause a little suicide.
Stick around for a couple of days.
What a scandal if I died!
Baby - it’s cold outside.
Bill Withers: Better Off Dead 
From: Just As I Am 
Elton John: Think I’m Going To Kill Myself 
From: Honky Chateau