Aweary of the Dark

Tonight I found myself contemplating suicide. This isn't exactly a common occurrence, but neither is it uncommon. These aren't thoughts you invite, they show up at your door and push their way inside. I know they're not always lucid and rational thoughts, nor is my ability to put things in their proper perspective always intact. I suppose that's why I'm still alive, some part of my mind recognizes that taking my own life isn't quite the best course of action.

Those thoughts, though, they're insistent and soothing. No more pain, and no more anger at myself for failing to claw my way through the gauzy layers of illness that cloak my mind and cast strange shadows over my thoughts. No more constant struggle to find my footing on a treacherous slope blanketed in uneasy bits of slate that slide and shift under my feet as if they were sentient and malicious. No more longing to be the person I used to be, to shrug off the skin of this imposter and step back into my own. It would be a blessed cessation of all of the turmoil, an end to all of the things that bristle with sharp edges and seem to long to scrape themselves through my thoughts when I long for serenity and stillness.

A lot of people are quick to call a suicide a selfish act, or a thoughtless blow against the suicidee's loved ones, but it's nothing so petty or shallow. It's a way out of a situation that feels inescapable by any other means. Imagine yourself on  the roof of a 15 story building, and imagine that building on fire. As long as the flames are confined to the lower floors, the view over the edge of the roof is dizzying and terrifying, and you cringe away from it. Even as the first dark wisps of smoke make their way up to your perch, your nice solid slab of safety, you wouldn't consider the ledge as a means of escape. It's not until the smoke thickens and swirls about you, and your feet grow warm from the inferno below that you start to think, "Maybe. No, I couldn't do that, it's wrong...but maybe."

 Your mind will recoil from the very notion, the part of your brain that is not listening to the growing bells of alarm will tell you to stop it, that surely there's a better solution. Little by little, the flames eat away at the structural supports under you, your formerly solid and safe slab of roof begins to sag and fail. The voice of reason eventually turns into just another voice in your head begging you to do something, do anything, to get away from the horror of burning. Now that ledge no longer looks like a source of terror, it's a blessed door into a place that is not burning. One step will save you from the conflagration, one small step and you will be unfettered and allowed to fall away from the heat and choking smoke. When you finally step off of the edge and begin that final descent, it's not because you wanted to jump, it's merely that jumping seemed the lesser of evils.

Am I suicidal now? No, I'm not. My flames are still confined to the lower part of the building and the floors immediately below me are blessedly free of smoke. The medications I'm taking keep them at bay, never letting them get too close, but allowing little flickers to make tiny advances from time to time. I still love my son fiercely and I still recognize the impact that my death would have on him. No, I'm not suicidal, but I understand now why some people choose to take that leap into open air.