Six months since my exile from London and the beginning of this catastrophe Im waking up from... but I am waking up. I miss touch. I miss being able to wrap my arms around people I care about. You know when you just hug someone and they hug you, and you break back and theres a smile... even if neither of you were smiling before? The smile may just be a subtle change of facial muscle, rather than a grin - even a momentary bitten lower lip - but it was there... My last major source of hugs and smiles was in the aftermath of the agony of my brothers funeral... six months and six days ago... when people who loved him lined past my sister, brothers and I, and I wrapped them and thanked them and cried with them. How could I have imagined it would end, there? These days are hard. This winter of my life is the coldest Ive ever experienced, both physically and metaphorically. Each time I stand on a pavement against the edge of traffic, every truck or bus rushing up on me is a temptation to end this. Every bridge too high is a way out of this nightmare. Ive researched the fall time and velocity and its just close eyes, jump and less than a few seconds to nothing. Ive scouted rivers that run through sandstone gorges, which, miles down the flow, are too coloured to see anything beyond a few feet, which I could hide my body in - weighted down - for years, if not forever, in human terms, without a frogman. I used to think I was depressed, in the far, distant past... but the experience of this past six months never prepared me for the experience of the past six months. I still think Im going to kill myself. I wake up every day and dont want to be here. I sit up on my bed in this hostel and look about the room and I dont want to be here. I sit there and see another day of nothing ahead, knowing that theres nothing the next day, too, nor the next day or the day after that. Im only just surviving. I am living in order to not kill myself. There are so many people out there who care for me, but theyd get over it if I disappeared forever. Id be a silence, not a slam to their lives. This is not to say that this is a suicide note... These are the words of someone who is suicidal. Please dont ever think were selfish or cowardly. And... despite everything... Ive made it through to here, so I must have some burn to live. And I live. :-)
Posted on: Sat, 24 Jan 2015 09:56:20 +0000
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