Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Succeeding to fail.
I open my eyes to see a cross with Jesus.
I wonder if I’m dreaming or in heaven, but then Jesus wouldn’t be on a cross in heaven, I realize that the cross is hung on a wall. My head is heavy and I feel dizzy.I feel like throwing up. The realization sinks in, like a heavy rock in my stomach bed.
I have failed again.
But this time it hurts. It hurts bad. After a few seconds of hurting I let it pass, After all that’s what I am right? A good for nothing failure.An emotional wreck. A dreamer.
So what if I failed to kill myself? Maybe some people are just supposed to suffer. Maybe some people aren’t supposed be happy, or be at peace. Some people are just born to fail.At everything. Some people are just not supposed to win.
Who was the first man to climb Everest? Really? Who was the third?
After a long time, I feel my chest aching . My emotions get the best of me. I can’t hold in the tears. I let them fall.”This was not how it was supposed to be” I tell myself. The imaginary bubble I made for myself has left me. I will miss it dearly. I look around, my hospital room and notice that the temperature control on the window air conditioner is set to ‘Mid’. I notice a candy bar wrapper and a few tissues in the waste basket. Someone was here. Someone was crying.
In the midst of this someone comes through the door. I turn my head and pretend to be asleep. It’s the nurse. She goes through the dozen pharmaceuticals on the table beside me, picks something up and walks out.
A thousand thoughts flood my brain, like someone opened a dam gate. Wish I had a cigarette..Maybe ten.
Atleast I know I slept for a long time in a long while. A permanent cure to my sleep trouble it would be.
To be tired and not be able to sleep is one of the worst situations in the world. I've been tired for a long time. Tired of work, tired of sports, my music, the woman...you name it...There was nothing that appealed to me any longer. It wasn't depression exactly...more like when you just want to move on, knowing its not over yet.
My head it seems refuses to become lighter.
I think of my last few moments of my life before I took the pills. I think of the events that could have possibly led to where I am now.
They say suicide is for the weak. For the ones with no courage. The ones who seek to escape. I disagree with the first two.
To take another man’s life takes courage yes. To take ones own however, requires more.
Everyone fears death. Ironic.
I look at death as a journey filled with hope. Strangely, I wasn’t scared. I felt the same way one feels before setting of for a trip abroad, or the day before your first day in a new class.