I immediately thought of myself earlier that morning, sprawled out in my bed, naked except for my mom's soft blue robe wrapped around me. My body pressed up against the cool crisp sheets. And inside, I was wishing, yearning almost, to be there, slowly bleeding to death. I envisioned my neck...and felt it nestled up against my pillow. I pictured the warm, sticky crimson blood flowing out into the pillow. Soaking it in, like a bandage. My fingers were unfurled like petals of a flower. In my mind's eye, my wrists were bleeding too. Blood was flowing out. The warmth that was inside of me was soaking into my sheets and making my bed warmer. Like a blanket or fog...a warm red fog, slowly creeping up on me and flowing around my curves, finding it's way into every nook and cranny.
Of course I couldn't very well tell him that *this* was what I thought about when I was depressed. So I said "Private stuff." I know he was trying -sweet boy. But I was embarrassed about my thoughts. Embarrassed about the comfort that they gave me; and not sure that I could explain it to him in a way that wouldn't scare him, or cause him pain or fear. There is such freedom in dying. I don't think I will ever be afraid of death. It's like a warm welcome home to me. Other people dying however...or the thought of living...now those are the things that scare me. I'm terrible with good bye's of any sort. Be it on the phone...or the permanent good bye of death. l don't anticipate killing myself either. But the thought of it is freeing. It's sort of like...well...if I have nothing left to live for...then I have nothing really to fear either. In a strange way, having your heart obliterated is freeing. I've been blown away. Every last part of me that means anything is gone. Like dust in a storm, blown far out into the great beyond. I have no meaning right now. I have to find meaning. Why am I here?
Sabrina told me a story once, about the Dalai Lama. She said that every day, the Dalai Lama would drink from this ancient glass. It was priceless. And one day, someone asked him "How can you do that? Aren't you afraid that you might drop it? Or break it?" The Dalai Lama replied, that "The glass was already broken." in his mind, the glass had broken years ago; therefore freeing him from the attachment and fear of breaking it. ...Therefore freeing him to use it every day and enjoy it. This has always been the best way I know how to explain my feelings about my own life. How I feel about suicide, the inevitability of my own mortality, and in turn about the life that I have to live now. In my mind's eye, *I* am the glass. And I have broken years ago. I try to remind myself of that when I feel the world closing in on me...and I feel nervous or scared about the life and obstacles that are stretched out in front of me. I just remind myself that I am gone already, and that I am free. And then I am free to take action and live my life.
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