I suspect that barely a week goes by without the topic of suicide peering over my horizon, whether it is brushing the leaves of the past from the tree of history and coming up against the music or the writing or the art of someone who chose, hopefully after much deliberation that enough was enough.
Or whether it is simply the seemingly inevitable curve that my life is currently on. The prospect of seeing out the rest of my days surrounded by love, comfort, friends & family battles with the notion that perhaps I should be the one choosing la fecha de fallecimiento.
The stigma of suicide is still that it is a coward’s
way out. However, the ever-increasing numbers of suicides suggests that being
branded a coward after death counts for little when weighing up the choice to
continue to live on in pain or to settle things for good.
People often suggest that there is so much to live for
but that isn’t always that apparent to the person gripped by whichever strand of
despair they are being slowly suffocated by. Is it really worth carrying on
down the road to inevitable collapse, fuelled by alcohol or drugs, crippled by
inertia and anxiety? Or is it better to just move on.
And what about the people you leave behind? Isn’t it
selfish. I am not so desperate to recognize the fact that if I do decide to
just stop this whole dizzy whirl that there will be people who will mourn my
passing. A handful of people maybe but they will move on. They will forget the
passing and hopefully remember the substance of my life and not the route out
of it.
I could of course hang around and see what happens
next but you see I have been here before. I made serious plans to take my own
life in 2013. But I thought my action was too selfish and I owed it to my family
to stay strong. But I know the truth, I am not strong. I am vulnerable and hate
the way that makes me look and feel. I decided to stay around for my sons and I
also decided to ‘see what happens’. What happened was my marriage collapsed,
Brexit & Donald Trump too. Whilst I wouldn’t blame my sense of futility on
either of the last two, neither fill my heart with anything other than bitter
& twisted anguish. Nor, I must stress, do I blame my ex-wife on the
marriage collapsing – that was all down to me.
Sitting at this wooden table and listening to the Lorikeets,
Magpies and Myna bickering in the garden, whilst I listen to Joao Gilberto,
waiting for the water to boil, everything is calm. I am making plans for the
week, looking at possible gigs to go to in January 2018, applying for jobs,
wondering if I should stay in Australia or to move on. I’ve got tickets for The
Ashes (although that won’t offer much respite). I am looking forward to at
least February. But that’s the odd thing you see. I used to look way beyond the
next three months. I cannot do that anymore however hard I try.
In closing, I know that I am loved and I love. So, all
is not lost.
And even if I decide to stop, nothing is lost. It will
just be different.
Ax
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