take his own life. I will remember him fondly as a man full of wide-eyed
wonder, innocence, sensitivity, humor, and love for his wife and family.
He battled depression long and hard, but eventually collapsed under the
strain. Below are a few of his own words. Please be cautious in reading
if you are sensitive; his words are strong.
It is a cold December rain
Falling on my face
Mixing with the tears
Streaming down.
The cold outside is
Bracing
My knees shake, my hands tremble.
I see holiday lights
Strung up on trees,
And the wind rustles branches...
The rain and the tears keep
Falling.
Both a tall, strong tree
And a self-confident man,
Stand against the storm.
I see you.
Or is it a reflection of you?
I see you, standing there.
Broad shoulders, able to press iron
Upward.
But,
Unable to bear the burden of the weight
You carry inside you.
Your chest, finely sculpted muscle
Encapsulating the agony you feel
In your heart.
Your back, strong and sturdy,
Reminding me of the deadly cobra's hood.
Yet yields to this beast saddled to it.
Look closer.
Let me see your face.
I see warm brown eyes that belie
The anguish behind them.
Rich full lips--rose colored lips.
Sensuous, soft lips as they've been described
By the women who have
Known you.
Lips forced into a smile by a man
Trying desparately
To conceal
His pain.
Your appearance is
Not you.
I see through you.
Why are you crying?
PERSPICACITY
Now, there's a word for ya.
So, last night, I heard a song that sent me into an absolute downward spiral.
I was having a FANTASTIC day up till that point, and next thing ya know, I
was locked in my office with a loaded handgun at my side, unable to see
clearly for the tears pouring from my eyes, and unable to think clearly for
the voices telling me to "Die, die, die."
Bad fucking place to be, most folks would say.
So the wife runs next door, calls for help, and for the second time in six
weeks, the cops are at my home, trying to help the guy who can't seem to
help himself.
Let's recap: I've stabbed myself. I've tried to poison myself. I've tried
"suicide by cop," and now nearly shot my face off. All in a matter of six
weeks. It seems that I certainly believe in the old adage that "if at first you
don't succeed, try, try again!"
I am the ultimate "man with a plan," ladies and gentlemen.
But, alas, I digress. They convince me to go to the hospital. I get there and
a social worker asks if I will "contract my safety" with her, which I do.
They call my PDOC (physchiatrist) and I speak with him over the phone.
"Do you want to stay in the hospital," he asks? Three hours have elapsed
at this point.
"Ummm...no doc, I don't believe I do," I respond in my best Eric Cartman
imitation.
The PDOC speaks to the attending, who then hangs up and tells me I'm
free to go.
"Screw you guys! I'm going...home."
I get back home, and analyze the quote/unquote "scene of the crime."
<thanks, arlo>
I do the analysis and introspection, then go to bed.
Which leads me to this point. Perspicacity. n. acuteness of perceptions,
discernment, or understanding.
As much as I try to delude myself that I am actually recovering from
depression, I am able to discern that my true motives are to continue
down this path of self-destruction until I am dead.
And unless I change this mindset, I will.
I can talk all day about how much sunsets mean to me, and my neurons
can bathe in serotonin until they are pickled, all that is superficial as long
as my objective is to do myself in.
Thus, I am acutely aware of this: Until my goal is to live, I will continue to die.
--
Michel
