I hesitate to post. In a way, looking forward to responses here is another tie to cut when all I want is to be free of such anchors.
I don’t yet have the materials for the death I want and I so desperately want to have that one last moment for myself when the day comes… But I fear I’ve run out of time. I can’t shake the dread of living, the longing for dying, and the dissatisfaction of my entire existence. I don’t know how I will make it through the week. I don’t want to make it through the week.
An empty life finds itself on a narrow path, each side is an endless abyss. The winds heave and yaw, rocking the life til its toes turn white with effort trying to stay on the slick, grey path. It holds a candle. A little life, a little light. The dust cuts into its skin, glass embeds in its feet; it makes its weary progress. Step after pained step.
It sleeps. It wakes up with heavy pounds of sharp, grey dust atop it. It gets back up. One day, the candle goes out. It sleeps. It doesn’t get up.
2 comments
You deserve so much more than I can offer in terms of meaningful interaction, but, have you considered trying a different hospital? Some of them really do have excellent staff and resources. It will still take effort, of course, but it might give you that breakthrough moment, something that reaches through the numbness and brings you back to the world as a willing participant.
Honestly, I’d hate for the world to lose you if there’s any chance at all that things could turn around. You *are* still in there, beneath the numbness and detachment — I can’t help but suspect the potential for happiness is still there, too.
I regret waiting so long to follow up with this post. I know I’m probably too late, but I can’t help hoping you’re still around, hanging in there somehow. Your posts resonate so much with me; I wish I knew how to take your pain away. Whatever you decide, know that you are remembered, and missed… even if only by a stranger on the internet.