Bob died, years ago. Hung himself.
Eloise this weekend. Hung herself.
I read up on suicide last year.
It fascinates me and it makes me weep.
I’m studying economics at the moment.
Rhys asked if I was ok.
-I’m angry and i’m confused.
I feel like an idiot.
I’m missing something here.
Why do people do it?
I’m a strong believer in people having versions of themselves.
The Tasmanian version.
Travelling when you’re depressed.
Insightful, healthy, active, challenging, adventurous.
A metaphorical suicide.
Re-invent yourself. MOVE
But no. Life is too hard.
You’ve experienced the good times and SOMEHOW, despite the good;
people get caught up. Stuck in a rut. Bang their head against a bad idea-
long long long, day and night. Brain damaged, they get this wild idea to end their suffering. Don’t worry about other people around you. Its a choice.
Is it a choice? Do we actively choose to live every day?
So let me get this straight. Your mum and dad, they created you.
Your mother carried you around inside herself, feeding you with her own body.
You are born. A beautiful little cherrub. You are raised.
I wonder how suicide fits in with the nature vs nurture debate.
All the trouble society went to, the late nights your parents had to endure, sunken eyes, changing your diapers, kissing your soft newborn scalp. “shh-shhh-shhh, singing lullabies, reading you books, feeding you, giving you shelter, training you, watching you grow, learn to walk, talk, tumble”. And for what.
This opportunity squandered.
Blessed are you, in a society that creates (with machines!) a thread for you to hang yourself with. Spend your life trying to weave together a noose. You morons. You are given this glimmer. What do you know that the survivors don’t?
You know quiet. You go blank. You taste the chemicals your brain releases when you die. You see the light. You are high.
So wrong. Life’s struggle. A bastard of sadness and unjust tragedy, and you, you add to the survivor burden. You stand in the middle of the good vs bad see-saw. You walked from: good—v—-bad
and you jumped at the middle. Suspeneded and hanging for all to see.
We lost another good one today.
Chemical imbalance. Dad said coke is to blame. Out bodies are PH neutral, tending towards alkaline. Coke is acidic. People get this imbalance from the chemicals they put in their body. What a crazy theory.
Megan said; “when my best friend hung himself, I worried that other friends of mine would do the same”.
I’m happy I talked to her. She shared a lot that night. I walked and listened.
Unsure of so much of the relevance. She made forget my pledge of black clothing. We went to the beach, I swam, played catch, talked and kissed, I dove in the water, practiced headstands. I was entertained. I was not depressed, I was busy. And I wore blue. Not black. All blue. I applied for a new job. I hadn’t eaten enough, my brain felt like a dry sponge. In the wrong hands I could have turned to dust.
I went home from the library and ate. I didn’t give suicide much thought.
But here I am at the computer. Computing. Thinking. Writing.
There was a service for El today, I didn’t have the heart to go.
A heap of people, society, feeling sad.
Looking for closure? All that emotion. I want to hug each and every one.
I want to share stories, I want everyone to be ok.
But she left us, she chose. The ultimate individual, selfish, lone wolf,
confused, pointless, worthless, waste of beautiful, unique life.
Grief mongering, poisonous, reckless, poorly thought out, destructive, gut wrenching, turmoil that isn’t in the deck of cards when you start the game of life. Its not on the six sided dice. There is no chance. And so before you go: I wish I could have asked why. Are we still going to go out for that coffee?
No, no we never will. Why did you say that?
Closure? NONE. Uncomfortable, grief stricken vultures. We pick our way through life’s little morsels and deal with these horrible events how we can.
All that confused thought.
The difference between how men and women choose to kill themselves.
Pills, Hanging, Jumping, Drowning, Shooting, Carcrash, Warm baths & cold razors.
“You are poisoned, you are confused, you needed help, I wish this were not so”.
There are so many of you out there, that “MOOD”.
:I’ve thought about it. We all have. But you never would. Would you?
If you can think it, if you can dream it. Impossible is nothing, right?
Turn those sporting or motivational on their heads.
Lets talk about suicide. Even saying it cheapens it.
Why are we all afraid? Because its a taboo.
What makes you sad enough to think it?
Why would YOU do IT?
Can it be helped that we get sad?
Do we need the sad to feel good?
Like all things, our mode of communication; its very basic is having direct and opposing understandings of things. Black and white. Good and evil. Hot and cold.
Alive and dead. Some are more real than others. I’ll let you guys ask the dead their opinion. I think logic goes out the window. Words are distant.
The feeling. The trance of the ill-feeling. Needs to be broken by those close at hand. A stranger, a lover, a friend. Where are they when suicide is happening.
Can we talk about this? Why am I so confused. How does suicide, the action and its reasons raise such an abhorrent question mark. It makes me angry. That you’re gone makes me sad, but I wasn’t there when you needed me.
Is it a tragedy? Did you want this? Surely this is a sick joke.
Were you lonely? Is depression just boredom? Where were you on the spectrum.
Were you sad because you’re felt happy in the past?
When did you last smile?
What was your last word?
How many breaths in a day?
You don’t care.
You are gone. And no-one will remember you in 100 years. Not one single person (I don’t think). That’s a tragedy. That’s a sadness of time.
This is what you make me think of.