There's something about suicide or being suicidal.
Or will I say, when you once embrace death!
When life's storm throws you about until you land in the embrace of peace perfect peace, when he embraces you, fondles your hair, and you feel that peace you've never thought of wash through your being.
After that.... You miss him. You miss death. Especially when rescuers held you so firm and pull you away, like a lover being pulled from their other lover who they know and can swear loves them.
You want to kick your legs and scream and stretch out your hands, and wriggle your finger and hit your entire being on the ground begging it to come along, to not leave you. But you're adult. Adult don't do such things. So you give it a last look, you study keenly the face of this love and peace as you're pulled away. Something about his smile, his eyes, dark with comfort. It says to you, I'll come for you!
Something about suicide that makes you hate life afterwards. Folks begins to think times gonna heal you and with time you have to act like you've been healed so as to not be seen as weak and attention seeking. But deep down you know, you're better off dead. Something about suicide, it leaves an eternal print of comfort on your troubled mind, it allows you judge for yourself each time a storm comes crashing at you.
Something about suicide that makes you withdrawn. It makes you look at the world from death's eyes! Something about suicide that makes you calm... It just makes you calm I don't know why.
Something about suicide, that rules your life. You wish it didn't come initially, but then you wish you didn't wish it, because you've loved it when it comes. Something about suicide that keeps you loving death till you're gone.
Something about suicide that makes you get unnecessarily busy. You'll do everything but sit quietly, because to meditate is to see your self in the arms of death, being rocked gently till you sleep. Yet you know, there are those you've promised that you'll stay, not for you though, you see no reason. For them. For the amount of time they invested trying to get you stable, for all their love and sacrifice. You look at death's embrace and just before you fall in, the voice comes ringing in your head. And you stay inbetween. If I say tormented, it will be that an evil spirit has plaque you, so I will say disturbed. You're dead and you know it, but you'll have to just act alive. And you can't be calm and you know it so you become overtly engaged.
You read, you critique, you call out, you hug, you fight, you pick up new habits. And a time will come you'll have to cut off from some folks who comes preaching the gospel of sanity, they fail to see, you're right in this muddy river not because you chose to, but you're fighting for life.
Something about fighting for life that gets tiring as you continue to do it. Then existing and breathing becomes your utmost priority. Not hard things like waking up in the morning and setting goals. You look at the obituary and the bodies of a thousand dead people and you tell yourself one day, one day. It will be your turn. But the day doesn't come quick, so you keep swinging ropes, being misunderstood, stare into blankness. Listen some more to sermons, pray, work, and all the while you smile and say I love it here. Bloody lie!
But you must say this lie. Something about suicide, when you start fighting to live that makes you lie. All how are yous, have one answer.. I'm fine! All I hope you're strong ends with yes. And when the phone drops you cool back to the thought of how best to not lie the next time, how to just tell the truth. I. Want. To. Die! But you know it can't work. Kind people tell you about how their friends battled with life and died, people who will give anything to live another day. They do it from the kindness in their heart, trying to make you see how grateful you should be that you have the luxury of too much life but you're planning to die. But do they ever know that after you drop the call, you badly wish that dead person was you? Laugh. Laugh. Laugh. Brace up, act like you're grateful for life. Even though you hate the very fact that you're breathing.
Something about suicide that's final! When it comes it comes to stay, after which you're allowed the luxury of enjoying life, no. Sorry. Acting like you are enjoying life. The more you do, the best you master the act. And then it feels like you're fine, then it shows up again, then you know it's there. Then it allows you time to rest. Thing is, you're tired of explaining. All you can mutter is stay with me. Hold me. Hug me. Embrace me. And what you don't say is.... I won't be here for so long. God forbid that you should wish death on yourself.
So if I should write a sincere letter to you Tolu, I'll say.....
I envy you!
I envy you!
I envy you!
I envy you!
I envy you!
I envy you!
I envy you!
I envy you!
I really really envy you!
Then with a question that doesn't look like what you want to ask but you must sha ask it... "How does it feel to die?" it's a foolish question because you know the answer, but ask it.
And pretend more that the only reason why you are still here is because...... Wait. It's not for public consumption.
Don't grieve for me sha.
Sleep now. The storm is over the battle is won. Only the living grieve for the dead, for the dead. No grieve. A plunge into an open field of calmness and peace. Anything than being in a body!
Don't worry.
I AM FINE! VERY FINE AND STRONG!
Tolu, you should know, I spent the whole midnight envying you. And even now, I've not stopped envying the place you are. The peace you've found. The light exploding through your being. And this struggle called life, you've left behind!
I envy you!
Dazzol!
- ©Chines Zoe! 2020
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