warning signsApril 29, 2009
Do you sometimes feel so bad that you think of suicide?
Have you thought how you would do it?
I have a stockpile of pills. Not a stockpile in the sense that I am saving them up for this purpose. But I have plenty and it would be easy to attain more. I have pain killers and muscle relaxants and antidepressants and more antidepressants.
I have vodka. Vodka stored in the freezer, as cold as it can get so it will go down as smooth as it can. Enough vodka to swallow those pills and make a few toasts before I shut my eyes for a deep sleep.
I will never commit suicide. I will never kill myself. I will never take my own life.
In a world of “never say never,” I am confident of the above.
Why? How do I know?
Because when I was a junior in high school my sister tried to kill herself. She took a heavy duty packing knife and slid it in a horizontal line across her wrists.
They said that she wasn’t actually trying to kill herself. They said it was a cry for help.
When I was a senior in college, her education had progressed as well. This time, she took the knife and slid it lengthwise up her forearm. Her forearms. She was very close to successful. She did not succeed, but she was very close.
Her landlord kept her security deposit. He knew that it was human blood in the carpet.
It’s remarkable that he knew because I stood beside my father as he scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed trying to remove that stain. That stain of his daughter’s blood. A scream that was clearly not merely a cry for help. He did all he could to erase it.
No parent should ever have to remove the mark of their own child’s blood.
So I have pills. I have lots of pills. And while I may take one from time to time for a non-prescribed use, I will never take them all.
Because my parents deserve better.