Deepest and darkest

i don't want to go there again. I've been there twice, and I swore I'd never go back after the last time. Honesty compels me though to say that at times I've been tempted, very tempted. In fact, I doubt that there has been a full month in the last 30 years that I haven't thought about it at least once. There have been days when the idea has come to mind more than once. Sometimes, the idea is appealing, and thankfully, most of the time, it's repellent. It serves as a signal to put my armour on again, to gear up for battle and look out for my vulnerabilities.

My deepest and darkest place is suicide. At times, it has beckoned to me like a lover, saying, "You're not going to hurt anymore. You're not going to disappoint anyone anymore. You won't be a burden to anyone ever again. No one will hurt you when you're with me. With me, you'll find peace and calm. I am what you deserve. I want you, darlin'. No one else does. Now, come to me."

The lying son of a bitch whispers in my ear and shows me a beautiful still photograph that looks like it came from a movie directed by someone who loves violence. Sam Peckinpah, maybe. Mel Gibson, possibly. The picture is me with a gun under my chin. Sometimes he shows me the blood spatters behind me, and my body slumped. It's a pretty picture. I look good.

The bastard knows how to get to me, but I do know him for what he is, a liar, a cheater, a con, a betrayer. No matter how smooth and sexy his voice his, no matter how convincing his arguments, I won't listen to him ever again. The truth is when the moment comes, the lighting artists and that genius photographer aren't there. My face is swollen from crying. My nose is running. I'm dripping sweat. I've refused to have guns in my house, because I know how pretty they can look, how sexy they can feel. I'm staggering, my hair wet from a milky sweat, clothes plastered to my body. I'm stumbling, muttering and vomiting. If I'm lucky, it hits the toilet because that's where my staggering steps are taking me. If I'm not, my emesis is spilled down my clothing, and my reek is even stronger. It's not a peaceful surrender to sleep. It's violent cramping and heaves as death and life pull at me from opposite sides. It's a choking that just won't end as I cough and gasp. It's wiping the blood from my chin when it's over and crying because I failed at something else. It's getting up the next morning and pretending the handful of pills was just something I ate, putting on yet another smile, applying makeup with shaking hands and hoping no one looks in my eyes.

Life is a crappy lover sometimes. He's rude, neglectful and never fair. He's never had the soft words for me that I've offered him. At times, he's been ugly and violent. Most of the time, he's just frustrating and boring. I don't know why I love him so, but I do love life. So when suicide comes calling with Don't Fear The Reaper playing in the background, I fight. I fight at the first sign. I fight when I can't shake a bad mood after a few days. I fight by not answering the phone when I know the call will weaken me if I answer. I fight by accepting that medication is just another part of my life. I fight it by taking walks, by crying, by venting, by blogging, by taking care of my health. I fight it with Stuart Smalley lies and activity just for activity's sake to keep me diverted. I fight it by loving family and friends. I fight it by keeping my eyes open to more than just depression's lies and distortions. I fight it with the kind of grim determination people don't expect to find in a soft spoken, people pleasing, smiling, over the hill southern belle. I fight it by letting people know that it's people like me that suicide has tried to claim, that it could be anyone with this battle.

Death will come for me one day and take me. I'll go then because there is no other choice, and it's time to move on to something else. However, I'm not going into the arms of the one who would have me call Death myself. That battle, that fight will never end.

If you need help in this battle, here are some good links: Suicide Prevention Lifeline, National Strategy for Suicide Prevention, NAMI Suicide Information

This entry motivated by Sunday Scribblings.

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Sunday Scribblings, suicide