Transmissions from the Afterlife

I died in 2002. Not literally, obviously. But philosophically. For all intents and purposes. It was the first time I ever tried to actually kill myself. After an incredibly long gestation period starting when I was 12 years old and first thought I'd really rather not continue living. At that time a bottle of iodine was my ticket out. It was the only poison we had in the house besides drinking Drano and I somehow had an image in my mind of iodine poisoning being a gentler, kindler way to destroy myself. As crazy and stupid as it sounds, it was my dog that saved my life then. Dogs can be very intuitive and she obviously sensed I was in pain. She snuggled up to me and licked my face and pushed herself into my body and would not move until I had stopped crying. Its weird because we've owned lots of dogs in my lifetime and I've gotten to see how many different kinds react to human emotions, and though all of them seem to sense pain, not all of them will try to ease it for you. I guess I was lucky. For that day at least, the urge was gone. But I stole the bottle of iodine from my mother's medicine cabinet and hid it in my room. My lifelong back-up plan of desperation had been hatched. It stayed with me throughout the next 20 years, waxing and waning with my happiness and contentment but never quite reaching rock bottom again. Until that day in 2002. I'd moved in with my boyfriend of four years. We were living together less than a year when he realized that the fact that he traveled during the week so much for his job was probably what had kept us together so long. He was miserable and hating on me all the time and making me hate myself even more when I should have been kicking his fucking ass and letting him know what an asshole he was. Sometimes I can easily turn depression and sadness into anger and re-channel it. But it wasn't working that Spring. I was also having problems at my job. I was feeling lost. And alone. So on that Tuesday (I can't remember the date cuz fuck that I'm not sure I wanna remember the exact date) while my boyfriend was away on a business trip I decided that now was the time. I bought two boxes of sleeping pills that morning and returned home. We had a dog and I remember planning carefully how not to starve the dog until my boyfriend came home that weekend which is remarkable actually just in terms of how your mind still works when it is at its logical end. I got the hugest bowls I could find and filled 1 with food and 1 with water and went upstairs to get into bed and take the pills. I wrote a note which was, oddly for a long-winded writer like myself, short and to the point and only directed to my boyfriend which is also strange. Then I proceeded to swallow two whole boxes of sleeping pills. You think of weird things when planning your own death. Like did I really want people to find me naked since that is how I normally sleep? Nope. So I dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. A black one, at least. Very demure and slimming for when 8 men carry me out on an ambulance gurney. I also didn't want to be alone with my thoughts. My thoughts were what had brought me to the point I was at. I had heard enough from them. Did I want to listen to music as the end came? Watch one of my favorite movies? As luck would have it, my dvd player had broken the week before. And all that was on tv was a shitty Danny Devito movie called Heist. I still haven't watched that whole fucking movie. But the few minutes I saw before closing my eyes and waiting out eternity were pretty execrable. I cried a little. Then slept. And then something strange happened. I woke up in a daze at around 11:30 that night. I knew that the pills hadn't worked because it had already been 6 hours since I'd laid down. And I was surprised that I was happy it had not been successful. I got up, tore up my suicide note, kissed the dog, and went back to bed, thinking holy shit I hope tomorrow is a better day. I often think about that night. It puts my lifelong battle with depression and suicidal thoughts into perspective. Though I am not a religious person so I was against thinking of it as a miracle, I did however firmly believe that Fate had saved me for a reason. I knew my battle was not over, and I didn't know what that reason might be, but I was determined to figure it out. I still am. But it does seem to be a long, uphill slope with no further ropes thrown by Fate to help me complete it. But I often tell friends who confess to me that they are feeling suicidal all of the things I've seen or done since that night in 2002 because it really is an amazing list. At that time I had never left the country. Now I've been to Europe 3 times, the Caymans, on a Caribbean cruise. The travel alone has been worth the extra time. But I also saw the birth of my niece and nephew and have gotten to be a loving and positive presence in their lives which is 1 of the greatest things I've ever done bar none. I've also had lots of sex, fallen in love a few more times, made many new friends....well you get the point. To say nothing of trivial but important geek concerns like in 2002 Doctor Who hadn't even returned to television yet. Look at what I would have missed! Thats just me being silly, but I think you all know the topic is a serious one for me. Besides simply venting these thoughts, hopefully if some of you do struggle with these same issues, this will get a point across. To borrow the words of Albert Camus “But in the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself." I have found this statement to be very true. So here's to hoping that we all continue to find that courage every day that we are granted. There is just too much waiting out there to experience or accomplish not to give it a brilliant try. :)