Prelude to Suicide
...how the loss manifests
Not that it mattes really when I think about it but here we are again doing more of the same. New place this time. Kind of already christened it though. But here we are truly live. Give or take. Hard to say really. Linked it to the domain so all re/directs should be here now. Really not sure who I’m writing all this for though. Not like I was getting all that much traffic to begin with so really this must just be fluff. Have to applaud my consistency I guess. Even when I’m alone, I’m still dancing about the thing I could be saying instead. Maybe I should’ve titled this one, “Story of a Coward.” Guess we’ll know for sure by the end. Welcome and hello.
I’ve spent the past several hours trying to rationalize my own existence. Nothing new there but it’s different. This time, it’s actually different. I’ve wanted to die for a long time and I’m a bit ashamed to admit the thought of slipping this mortal coil is one of the few things that brings me even a modicum of relief. But this time I don’t know that it’s just shame. It feels like something far greater. Like I just hollowed out my very soul. I haven’t felt this much of anything except perhaps rage for the entirety of 2022. But now, here, at this moment it feels like something even worse than defeat. I want to scream until my voice goes horse but I can even find the words to start. Perhaps that’s why I’ve relented to the medium. To try to relieve some of the pressure. I feel like I’m about to explode.
I don’t know why I did it. No part of me thought it was a good idea but yet I still did it. I opened the door and in turn welcomed in the wealth of pain, the suffering I’d spent the last decade running from. “The Devil’s Masochism.” Another title consideration. I thought I’d left it all behind. The feeling. The memories never faded but the feelings, I thought them lost to time. Really, I should’ve known better. I was a hair’s breadth from breaking to begin with. That I could hold the hubris to think I could handle it is laughable in hindsight. I couldn’t handle it when I was a kid, and now, as this broken thing, that I could have imagined I’d fare any better? And here come the tears.
I spent the majority of the call crying. I don’t know how apparent it was but I just couldn’t stop it. My eyes were burning. It was like peering into a mirror of the blackest parts of my being. That cold darkness that haunts me. That place where the depression festers. I couldn’t hold it back. Not from her. I couldn’t hold anything back from her. Not sure I ever could. It’s why I know now, again, that I have no place anymore. Unsure if I ever did but that bridge is gone completely now. I’m scum for showing back up in her life. Of course she accepted me. She never gave up on me. Even after all these years. That kindness of her voice. I could tell, she didn’t resent me for what I’d done. Sure there were questions but she didn’t let me go. And I just brought my darkness back into her life. What scum I am.
She urged me to reach out to the rest of the gang. I couldn’t lie to her and pretend I was going to do it. I just also couldn’t tell her that I’d never felt more like ending my life after our conversation. That I feel like a plague on the lives of the people who were more of a family to me than my own blood. How this decade of isolation was my penance. How I’m no longer just depressed but also afflicted with what feels the seed of evil. It was so easy to slip back into it. But after it I felt exhausted. I felt the void. I still do even now, hours later. I can’t. I don’t have the strength to face the rest of them. I felt I barely survived her. All those memories flooded my mind. Still do. Of us all with our families and our kids becoming friends just like we had been and going on adventures just like us. I’ve been stuck in time. In limbo. But I can’t stay like this any longer. “I’m so sorry but at the same time thankful I was able to speak to you again.” Even it if was for the last time. I guess I did tell one lie. After that interaction I’m sure, I can never interact with any of them ever again. I don’t have the right. The heart. A place. Not there, not with them. My most cherished companions. I know what I am, what I have become, and I won’t bring that back into their lives. It ends with me. So this is it. My prelude to suicide.