Trigger warning pertaining the topic of suicide and dark "self-talks." Does end positively. Not an exact fit to the prompt, but I'd like to share.
Have you forgotten your grandmother's home phone number during the 90's?
Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.
There is a lot I wish I didn't remember, and honestly I always will. Maybe for you too?
It doesn't mean we will act on it. The fleeting thought lingers on tough days. Whispering in the dark. Intrusive thoughts growing louder. But hey, some days they also grow fainter.
It begins to feel like a familiar path I've strolled down before. Recognizing the twists and turns of my mood sinking. Anger or fear knocking potholes in my route. The smell in air of pure bitter depression. The taste of everything, everything being bland. And I'll admit, sometimes I slip towards that direction again a little to quickly. Too easy. Too familiar to me.
Have you forgotten your grandmother's home phone number during the 90's?
No, I bet you haven't. Just like you haven't forgotten what the taste of metal in your mouth taste like from that time you put a barrel there. Or how a handful of pills is more of sharp chucks of rocks going down your throat.
It's there, accept it. You're a survivor of a suicide attempt. You have a story to tell... or not tell if you like. But it's apart of you now, because you survived. You are a survivor.
This doesn't mean you taste the metal every day. It doesn't mean you feel your lungs running out of air again. It doesn't mean you're going to be fighting this for the rest of your life.
Every day I face myself in the mirror is another day I see improvement. Recovery. Simply because I'm there in in the first place. Whether on my worse days or best. I'm still standing.
And to the loved ones, or outsiders, or society or fucking whoever else that's not us: When you see us still fighting tooth and nail against those intrusive memories every now-and-again, remember that we are still here. Which means we are still fighting.
So don't be the face that looks down upon me. Don't be the one to overreact and treat every little bad day I have as some sort of setback. Some of you are my everything, a big motivation, a daily reminder of what's good.
But some of you are also a daily reminder of what's bad. As I look into your eyes, I see my future go up in flames again. The memory of burning flesh. The tightness of a rope. The stinging of a blade.
No, no, not this time. Not anymore. Even when the intrusive thoughts flood in all over again, I go back to my mirror.
I see myself. I see where I've been. I see myself standing, instead of laying in bed all day. Maybe I washed my hair today, maybe I couldn't even manage to brush it. But I'm still here.
Either be the eyes the praise upon me, or be the feet that walk away from me.
**Thank you to whoever read this far. I am not alone, you are not alone.
I'm not a professional. The national suicide and crisis hotline changed to three easy numbers now: 988. Easier than your grandmother's landline was in the 90's...❤️
All that glitters is not gold. I never said that I thought this would be easy, But I never thought it would be this hard. Loneliness is what overwhelmed me first. Sure, your husband is there For at least the fun moments at most. The hard nights seem to pass in a blur, And when I wake, I only then realize That the tough times were faced on my own. Nursing was supposed the be this magical thing I’m not saying it’s not, just saying in the end it’s all the same. Being a mom was all I ever wanted to be. So please don’t curse me if I voice the stress that came free It was a package deal that I purposefully overlooked. I hoped the fantastical dream being reached, would outshine any darkness to be seen I could cry all day of my woes and sorrows Yet truth be told, I still wouldn’t give it up Not even for a mountain of gold.
“If you die young, you never lived.” The chorus of the village chanted over-and-over. The monotone voices engulfing the acoustics of the room.
Eyes always shift around during this part. Luanne’s daughter for instance, never made it past 10. Gossip of her depressing fate is never forgotten.
Carl felt the pressure and expectations from the town. Vote this, vote that, sign this, sign that. Each year the Elders believe there is a “one.” One what? Why one?
The Elders consist of those who were once “The One.” But it had to of started somewhere, right?
“Always with the questions.” Bryan, an Elder, nodded. “This is why you where chosen. Why you must lead now.”
“I never wanted this!” Carl cried.
“Ah, but again another reason,” Bryan stated.
Every year the Elders choose a leader, they make a grand thing of it. A ceremony and honor of some new 12-year-old. All the parents pray it will be their child. Their child to rule the land and make the decisions for the harvest, and more importantly the selection.
The selection consist of a continual court proceeding. All the heavy crimes committed throughout the year are processed on the same day. Murder, adultery, rape and large thefts. One right after the other. Guilty or not guilty? This continues until all the cases have come to a verdict.
The Elders start every town meeting with a history lesson. They discuss how before, crime was overflowing the village. They report how since the dawn of the selection, crime continues to decrease.
It was of the belief that a child’s innocence and initial response to situations was more pure than that of a grown adult. “Adults can rationalize their way out of anything. A child’s innocence leads the way towards a righteous path.” Some sort of excuse like that. Carl couldn’t remember all the words. He just knew that once he reached the age of 13, he would no longer be viewed as a child and his opinions would no longer matter.
Carl’s selection date had finally arrived. He felt sick to his stomach as he approached his stand. Little do the citizens understand how influenced his decisions are by the Elders. He continuously told himself that when he turns 60 and joins the Elders, he will make sure to never be as pushy.
The first hearing went by fast. A man and a woman were caught shortly after the start of the new year in an affair. Both spouses had proof and eye witnesses.
Carl didn’t really understand the uproar from the crowd. As he looked to his Elders for council though and saw the multiple heads nodding, Carl just went along with it. “Guilty.” He managed to force out.
The woman screamed as she was escorted away but the man remained silent. Where do they go now? Carl didn’t know, but before he could ask, another man was brought in.
Evidently, the town went 3 more months without any crime. 3 months of harmony, with only the couple in jail, until this man standing before him. Murder. Carl grew nervous as the man stepped forward. Murder is serious. Someone had to of died then right? Carl had never known anyone that died before.
He heard the story of what happened. The victim died after hitting the bottom of a well. The man claimed it was an accident while at work. Some how another man died in the end though.
Death, okay that’s bad. “Guilty.” He stated and the bystanders cheered in response.
Next came a small woman. The crowd screamed, “Thief!”
This time was different though. They talked and talked about how she stole food multiple times. The women insisted it was for her children though and cried the entire time she stood there.
Carl sat back to think this one through. Hungry children? And she admits to it.
The council and the crowd grew impatient. Screaming for his decision and still calling her names. Bryan huffed out, “kill her already boy!”
Kill? Carl didn’t understand. She was to die?
And the crowd cheered for it. But that didn’t seem right either.
None of it made sense anymore: The joy they all seemed to have to kill the starving woman. The hate in the councils eyes as they grew tired of his delay.
And as he looked to the left and he looked to the right, he could no longer tell who was wrong and who was right.
Maybe we should have taken him more seriously. Maybe I should have tried to understand what was really going on in that head of his. But what I do know, is that you cannot ignore your mental health. It would start small. Little things that he would point out to me and not drop. “That woman had 5 piercings in one ear. 5! And it’s the 5th day of the week. On the 5th day of the month! Do you know what that means, Kyle?” No, no I didn’t know what that meant. And I didn’t care. Because it didn’t matter. And I just ignored it. I ignored him. I was tired of his little quirks. Now I would do just about anything to bring him back and chase after whatever delusion he conjured up again. I’d do it just for him. Then at least he’d still be with me.
Technology has always been a friend to us. A tool. A way to sustain the dutiful position as head of the food chain. We held that throne on our own planet for centuries with the use of our dear technology. Possibly even growing bored with the order of our own planet. Learning there was more to conquer, more the claim, and more to rule. Clearing and owning new planets then became our new greed. Some grew old enough to see our technology lead us to new heights. Those of us left now are here to face the wraith of our own creations.
