Sick
I’m sick. It’s completely ridiculous.
My head is made of glass. It shatters. The slightest sound shatters it. That’s why I’m writing these tiny sentences. But if you’re familiar with my writing, you’ll object. You’ll say “Shattering glass. That’s one of your primary metaphors. The sound of shattering glass signifies the destruction of old ideas and it’s the audible equivalent of unrestrained vitality and irrational joy.” Yes. You’ve got me there. But not in my head. Don’t be ridiculous.
I’m sick. I really shouldn’t be writing. I should be lying on the couch, moaning. But there’s no one here to hear except these stupid cats and they’re so miserly with the sympathy. The cats. They’re so despicable and even more so when I’m sick. What would they do if I died? Nothing. Feast upon my decay. Circle of life. All that. Stupid cats.
I hack. Wipe my nose. Consider killing myself. It’s really that nonchalant, a knee jerk reaction to adversity. Ask my Mom. I’ve been prattling on about killing myself since the moment I discovered people die. The suicide note is where I fine tuned my craft. I wish I’d saved them all.
Dear Mom,
Being 11 is hard. To what end the conversion of fractions to decimals? It’s not your fault. You were fair and kind. But now I must flee, to the common denominator of all!
And so on. But it’s just a thought that passes calmly through, a solution, followed up by more prudent ones. Like, call the doctor. Or, try some cold medicine. Days are just these little suicide notes, always lived through to write the next one. I remember where I was when Nietzsche smashed me with his aphorism: “The thought of suicide is a great consolation; by means of it one gets through many a bad night.” I wept on that page. There’s great companionship in loneliness.
I just took some cold medicine. Just so you know.
Some people will be appalled by my writing so lightly about such a grave subject. Some will just understand. Some will think it’s a cry for help. Some will think I’m seeking attention. I don’t know about any of that. How should I know why I write what I write? I didn’t have any plans. I’m just home. Sick.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Reader Comments (26)
Knowing suicide is an option (even if not a good one), has been a great comfort during some of the worst points of my life - most people look at me like I'm insane if I say that. Get well soon. the flu plus meds work and gargling with hot water and vodka helps with the bad throat (don't forget to spit it out - don't swallow it)
Feel better soon, dear. Sickness sucks. I'm home with three sick kids. There's so much crap going around.
I'm just going to pass over the suicide stuff because I just don't know how to respond.
You're wonderful, by the way.
I'm in complete agreement with Firehorse. Those kind of thoughts get me through things, they're little flashes of, "Oh, yeah, wait. I need to change something." I understand how someone would be offended about light hearted discussions on the topic, but I wonder how many of them have experienced that bleak, crushing depression, or who have grown up thinking these thoughts are normal. It's not a cry for help - those cries are more obvious. Frankly, I think the whole topic of suicide and mental illness needs to be discussed more, no matter how (excepting the truly offensive and sick comments) if only to help others realize that just because you think it sometimes, doesn't mean you're going to do it. Or that you want to. And most important, it's kind of normal for some folks.
As an aside, I would be so honored if you would consider submitting this for publish on IndieInk.org. No pressure, but I think it will resonate with a whole lot of people.
Bless you!
I shouldn't be laughing, but I did. Out loud.
Stupid cats.
A whole range of solutions occurs to me in adversity, of which suicide is an extreme of the continuum. So far I've dialed it back to a more appropriate setting.
P.S. I'm sorry you're sick and hope you feel much better, and soon.
Knowing you have an out sometimes makes the out less necessary.
And your 11 year old note killed me.
This post reminds me of a saying I learned from my father re: being sick. "Feel like I'm gonna die. Afraid I won't."
I hope you're better soon.
I woke up at 6am today, hours earlier than usual. I was tired. I forgot my breakfast on the way to work. When I realized I didn't have my yogurt smoothie I pondered sweet oblivion and various gauges of ammunition. Then I bought another one at the store. And some Wheat Thins for good measure. But if traffic is bad on the way home, who knows, man.
Knowing that the wretched cats will certainly feast on your decay, after days of nonchalance and can't-be-bothered, should be enough to motivated you to get well and live on, if only to say F you to the cats. Stupid cats.
About 18 months of my life were spent caring for three toddlers, cleaning up after three toddlers, and when they went to sleep, fantasizing about crashing my car into a concrete barrier until I - miraculously - felt better about my life and could move on.
I told my sister that and she told me I needed therapy, heh.
Fantasizing about suicide WAS my therapy. Thankfully, I've moved on to better therapies. Glass of wine, anyone?
Hope we BOTH kick the viruses that are slowly killing us ;)
Hope you feel better soon. I hate getting sick, I'm fighting it - the kids have been trying to infect us, damn vectors, but we're still fighting the good fight.
I remember wanting to commit suicide when life sucked at 11 -you know, by throwing myself out the 2nd floor bathroom window - but I figured the worst I would do would have a broken leg and that would be such a drag at ballet class. The logic.
I'm sorry you're sick. I've always thought there was a central nervous system component to viruses, and that's why I feel so depressed when I'm sick. Not just depressed that I'm sick but depressed. Anyway, I'm not sick and feeling a bit like you anyway. And I remember comforting myself when I was young by the idea that there IS always suicide. Not that's sick.
Internal response to suicidal thoughts, "Wherever you go, there you are." (Amplified in death) Therefore suicide seems less of an option when you think you're still going to meet your same old tortured self whenever you get to where you thought you might go.
Ah, nothing like the imagined drama of the well-crafted suicide note. A good lesson to those bastards. Except the whole, I'd be dead thing.
The 11 year old note? Um, dude, my kidneys. Really. I'll piss myself. Stop.
I hope you feel better, if only to be well enough to wallow in sorrow again.
Poor you. Feel better. Actually I think you're kind of a hero really. Giving your wise words to us when you are so poorly.
maybe echinacea?
Sometimes the urge to commit "suicide" is personally symbolic and could be seen as an archetype of transformation: one wants to "kill" the old self to facilitate a shift in consciousness or a heavy life change. In other words, images and thoughts of suicide may arise at the point of an/your imminent transformation...
Cold medicine is a hell of a drug. Well, it isn't coke or anything that it can be pretty trippy.
I just thought: "I wonder if he got his flu shot." Nothing more. :-)
I've always hated cats. Thanks for giving me another reason.
"grave subject."
I've thought about suicide a lot in my lifetime; you know; in the contemplative sense.
Part of me believes it is very brave, mustering up the gumption to take your own life. Part of me thinks it is very cowardly, not facing down what ails you and hammering away at it. I can't ever decided which part I agree with the most.
I was hoping for a note about conjugating verbs instead of fractions. You need better cold medicine.
Ha! I didn't find out until this past year that imagining offing yourself wasn't considered a "normal" response to stress. I had always thought that it showed an admirable degree of self-restraint and chivalry. You know, like at least you're not going postal on the semi-innocent bystanders.
Anyway, therapy has mostly cured me of that little tic as well. Stupid therapy, will you leave me nothing over which to bond with others?
Late to the party by 18 months here but that quote resonates. I am aware I've had suicidal thoughts with regularity since I was 10 but I don't think I'd ever do anything about it. It's usually not so much about truly wanting to be dead as it is about thinking when I am totally sick to pieces of being me and being here that if I wanted I could get out. Makes me feel like I've got a choice when I'm knocking all around my cage and haven't yet found the trapdoor.