Sep 29, 2008
I found this Word Document in my computer yesterday while I was trying to pass the time and it was from way back in the severely dark Oxycontin days... I vaguely remember writing it when I was really, really depressed... I read it now and I think... "Good God... Was it really that bad?" And I remember more and at the time... Yes, yes, it was. I'm so glad that even though I am struggling now... At least I am not struggling like I seemed to be then...
From Forever Ago:
Legs trembling, I step to the edge and stare down into the open nothingness below. I show myself a pale and shaking hand and compare the size of it to the void stretched out expansively before me. I blink eyes that no longer want to see and breathe air into lungs that would rather not.
Furtively, I glance behind me, a small part of me hoping that someone, anyone, will come rushing out of the darkness and give me back the sense of self that seems to have been misplaced. Running forward with it held out in their hand as if I were a dinner guest who has forgotten their jacket. No such person to save me from myself. I turn back. The black remains the same. It has been an unwavering presence. Always there if I dared to peek. This time there is no peeking. This time I face it wide-eyed and head on; terrified, but determined. I embrace it with exhilarating uncertainty.
I take a deep breath. This will be the last that I am consciously aware of, and I relish in this. My lungs burn as I fill them with bittersweet air. I hold it and wish for them to burst. Anticipate the pleasant pain that would come.
I close my eyes and pictures flash on the backs of my eyelids. My ears fill with sounds. I think of the feeling of the sun kissing my cheeks when I turn my face toward it. I hear the sound of the wind rushing down the hills and the sound of it tickling the underside of leaves on the cypress trees. I see the river twinkling like gold, reflecting the sun off of its many jagged ripples. I hear the laughter of my children in my ears. Painful angels tugging at my soul. Sounds of two people making love passionately in an attempt at oneness, and sweet nothings whispered into the ears of lovers. Angry and suspicious eyes glaring. Stern voices lecturing. The satisfying sound of shaped and hardened chemicals clicking on plastic containers while bouncing merrily in my pocket. Screaming. Accusations thrown like pin-less grenades at people who I love. Strong hands restraining me as I struggle to break free. Candle light flickering, revealing skin soaked with sour sweat. Anguished crying. My own dope sick eyes pleading with me in the mirror. Tears of frustration and pain spilling down my wasted face. I turn my back on myself.
I exhale slowly through parted lips and fall forward. Speed takes a second to catch up to me. I soar into the nothing and a scream fills my ears. It is my own. The end rushing to greet me as if it has been expecting me all along. The scream dies in my throat and I smile at it.