metanoia's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I am a pussy I have thought of suicide before. Many times. I can remember a few. What stopped me, what started me, what was I thinking? Usually, K was involved. During times when he rejected me I was deeply, deeply depressed. I would think about how to do it. Pills or poison? Gun or rope? Drowning? So many choices, only one life.... I usually chose the pills because, hey, just go to sleep and never wake up. So easy. New! Easy! Kill yourself and not even know it! Try it today - operators are standing by... But my brain is such that I would continue the thought beyond the death. That is what always stopped me. That and I am a pussy. Usually thoughts of my son growing up without me there and his incredible loneliness and frustration at my death was enough to stop me. Sometimes I thought he would be better off without me. But deep inside, I knew he wouldn't be. Because kids accept and love their parents unconditionally and shouldn't that unconditional love be returned in kind? He would feel it was his fault that I killed myself and live with the guilt forever. I did not want to ruin my childs psyche or life, so that usually stopped me. That and the pain, because I am a pussy. I also thought through the whole pill cycle. I take the pills and then lie down and wait. Gah! What if I change my mind? I always change my mind! It's WHO I AM!!! What if I change my mind but I am so drugged that I can't get up and get help and I die knowing that I didn't want to and that whatever it was I could live through it and Mikey needed me and maybe this was a good thing and I would have a better life because of it. What then. I would die with all these ideas of how to live through the trauma and make my life better. What a loss. What a waste. That, and I am a pussy. What about how they find my body. Who would find it. NOT MY SON!! Maybe K. Yeah, then he'd be sorry. Of course I wouldn't be around to rub it in his face, or enjoy his sorrow. And what if I pee all over myself? Don't you do that when you die, or worse - number 2 on myself. Gah. Whoever found me would find me dead in my own excrement. Double Gah and maybe and Ick in there too. So, how embarassing would that be, except I'd be dead and could not be embarrassed. But what if I doomed myself to walk the earth as a ghost by committing suicide I could not completely die. Then I would see myself and be embarrassed for me and I could not hold my head up around the other ghosts. That, and I am a pussy. So. Suicide. No. Now that I am older I don't think of it as much. I cling to every morsel of life and chew it 28 times. At least that is my goal. That is what I try to do, and in the trying I do accomplish it now and again. So, people who commit suicide are not pussys, exactly, but that is about all you can say for them. Then, again, living is a lot harder work than just ending it all. So maybe they are pussys even more than me! Life is full of crappiness, but the good days.... ah. The good days. The ones you wish would last forever, and sometimes they seem like they do, they are the ones worth waiting for. I guess I hang on for the good days, because I know they do come. And the more you watch for them, the more there seem to be... I'm not such a pussy after all. 9:18 a.m. - 2003-10-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||