Today was bad. It’s a simple statement. I wish I could dissect it further or give some explanation for what happened. I don’t think that it began with today, but it it was one of those days where it comes close to ending with today. I eventually lay down to take a nap – just to disengage from everyone and the demons.
I honestly don’t know what non-depressives think of suicide – but my sense is that there is a belief that depressives romanticize it – that they long for it. Perhaps poets have talked about the appeal of its soft embrace so poignantly that it sounds as if those of us under the spell of depression are being drawn toward suicide like a siren’s sweet lullaby. Like suicide provides some happily ever after.
For me, suicide does not seem remotely elegant. It’s like the ugly, mean, step sister of the Cinderella of daily living. Under no circumstances do I really want to flirt with her.
But there are days when it seems absolutely inconceivable that I am in anyway suitable for this cindered life. Days when I have to climb into bed to avoid heading to the drug cabinet. Days when I do not want to have dinner with my family for fear of having nothing to be thankful. Days when I cannot contemplate going to work and pretending like I care in the slightest about whether the systems work. Days when I look at my children, and I simply weep at the thought of their expectations. Days when I cannot fathom how I ended up where I am.
Those days when i just want to sleep like Sleeping Beauty until the thorns and brambles grow up around me, and I am distanced from everyone and all of time. Days when to bite that apple is the only feasible solution. Days when you want to be locked in a tower away from the world. Days when it’s better to imagine being swallowed whole by the wolf than to spend even one more exhausted skip down the path in the woods.