Saturday, 12 March 2011

The suicide curtain call

It's absurd how close I came to killing myself last night. It used to be a shorter impulse and far more latches, and last night it was just… It’s time.  I have had enough of this life. The day has been the day for it. I had a great time with dad in the morning. He feels sorry for me. The female individuals of my family will do, will ever only do anything that gives them the emotional and/or economic high-ground and as far as the General is concerned. Well… This man, who would eat sand so that I could eat pie... No doubt about it, suicide is selfish. It is the most fundamentally selfish act. But once you are as far, you honestly can no longer care about what everyone else will say.  For once. I would have cut my wrists and spooned into the bed next to him, so that he wouldn’t know I’m dying in his arms, he would just sleep, gently. But I didn’t have any very sharp blades and he saw me trying to get his hunting knife. He locked all the blades in the house after that into the gun safe and wanted to point a gun at me to test me, but that didn’t end well. Then I thought I could just hang myself, the place certainly has plenty tall strongholds, but he would probably hear me kicking. We have no pills to speak of and the second story window fall wouldn’t kill me. It shows I was lacking resolve; otherwise I wouldn’t be here to write this entry. General beat me and forced me onto the bed and took away the ladder, so I couldn’t get off. while he sat in silence in the dark on the sofa. Of course I could have gotten off if I wanted. But he climbed up himself and after a few hours of sobbing in the silence I remembered my mum isn’t speaking to me today because yesterday I picked the wrong pastry for lunch.  I had such a violent fit of sobbing bile came into my mouth and I ultimately passed out. Though for all the sleep when I woke up, my weeping just spontaneously continued. The General cannot understand this. His family doesn’t exist to continuously psychofuck one another over, insult, humiliate and abuse. They are normal people. Mine are extreme. And me, being stretched so wide between the two - the absolute optimism and happiness and such deep, disarming grief, cannot take it much longer.
         The truth is, I welcome the sweet, sweet darkness. The darkness in which I am still hopeful and where I can dream that someday I will have books published and children witty and toys and travels and I will look how I want and eat what I like and when I will say I love you, the reply won’t be ‘If you did, you wouldn’t do such things to me.’ Here, in Celje, all I have to look forward to is an ongoing decay of bright ideas, hope and my infamous life energy.
          I would not miss the things I’d leave behind; because I am sure they would all be there for me on the other side. My heaven’s also changed – for the longest time I thought it would be an endless nighttime library, but not anymore. Now I know my heaven will be trekking and traveling with the General: every day we will climb a mountain, every day we will dine in some lovely village, every day we will cross a new bridge. This will be an eternity in paradise. This is what waits for me on the other side of the sweet darkness.But then I get beaten up and stop thinking like this for a while.