It’s strange to realise that; after many years, I don’t have the sense of foreboding that has been sitting on my shoulders. At night I would lie awake for hours thinking about all the things that could happen to people I love and I would go through scenario after scenario, looking for a single one in which the outcome would be that I would survive too. For me, my loved ones are anchors. To lose just one… I would be washed away. I would lose myself to despair and I would either go mad or step in front of a train. Actually, for a while I kept a letter in my pocket addressed to “The Driver”, just in case I did just that. Because a lot of the guilt that thinking about suicide brought upon me, a lot of it was not for my loved ones. They had a different kind of guilt. I was very much aware that by using this driver to end my life, I would be ending theirs too. I carried with me an apology to this stranger for choosing them to be the instrument of my death.
I’m writing this now because this is one of those times that I would be worrying. This is one of those times in which the walls of my bedroom would close around me and I would retreat into my private hell.
Except now I don’t feel anything and I couldn’t be happier. I’d like to go to sleep though…