Been listening to a song by Black Lab called “This Night” and it’s given me a lot of inspiration, but it also is feeding my depression. It’s strange that my depression feeds my creativity… I ended up writing last night…
“She set the cup on the desk and took her earrings and necklace off, her fingers trembling. She stared at her rings… It had been three years since he’d died… he would understand. She pulled her wedding ring off and slowly set it on the desk with her other jewelry. She slowly undid her boots, trying not to think about what she was planning, and put them next to the desk. She ran her hands down her arms, feeling the softness of the cashmere sweater, then pulled it off. She was wearing a workout tank top on underneath that would do for a shirt. There were people in greater need of staying warm… Her body would be cold before the night and she would no longer care.”
“Let me at least try to help you.” He said.
“Don’t you understand?” She cried, glaring at him with such anger in her eyes. “Just let me die! Why do you suddenly care? You didn’t care earlier. You couldn’t be rid of me soon enough! I can’t keep trying to live like this! The pain… the pain is just too much… I don’t belong here, I shouldn’t even be alive.”
I shouldn’t be alive. If I were to go to another world… if I were suddenly transported to somewhere like Middle Earth… It would be a death sentence to me. What would I do? Would I let my body slowly deteriorate, becoming a burden on whoever tried to help me, or would I slip quietly away and kill myself?
At the doctor the other day, the nurse was amazed at my chart… amazed that I’m allergic to all plant life. How am I even alive? What do I eat? Hypothyroidism, fibromyalgia, allergic to so many things, asd… Is it a miracle I’m alive? My body wasn’t completed in the womb… I’m seeing more and more evidence of this the older I get, with the various problems I have. I keep wondering what I’m going to do if I go the way of my grandma and get Parkinson’s. She wrote about not wanting to be a burden on people, and I saw what happened when it got bad… I don’t want to go that route, but would I kill myself to prevent that kind of stress on my family? There is no happy ending with Parkinson’s. There is no peaceful passing, not really… When did she really die? She wasn’t really there… she didn’t know us in the end. She was like an infant again… Watching someone you love go through that is horrible.
But look at what happened with Robin Williams. All the responses on his death… people want us to stick it out, they don’t want us to “take the easy way out.” It’s not easy. There’s nothing easy about deciding to end a life. It’s the thought of “will it be easier on them in the long run?”
I have had an amazing life in my almost 30 years. I have done so much, accomplished a lot, gone so many places. I have no real regrets. If I died today, the only regret I would have would be that I wouldn’t be here for my boys. I wouldn’t be here to watch them grow up, to help them through life, and it would be more of a problem for my husband who is under enough stress as it is. My parents would have to take the kids, probably, since they’re retired. I need to work on a will and get life insurance, something to help my husband out. Funerals are expensive, after all and we’re not exactly rich…
“She bent down, gripping the soft leather straps in her hands, and wrapped the greave around his shin, buckling it on tightly. A hand brushed back her long brown hair, fingers grazing her cheek gently. She looked up in time for his lips to kiss hers, his hands pulling her closer to him. A single tear traced its way down her cheek as she wrapped her arms around him, his armor digging into her skin. A small price to pay… He slipped out of her grasp, smiling sadly. He cupped her face in his hand, then grabbed his helmet and walked out the door. She watched him leave, watched as the army gathered around the city… the smoke from the attack burning her eyes.
And like that, he was gone.
She stood on the edge of a cliff, staring down into the rushing river below, longing to feel the water on her face. It would hurt… but what was a little more pain? She should be used to pain by now. It was the peace at the end of the pain that she wanted, that she longed for. She smiled and wrapped her arms around herself, longing for his touch again… it wouldn’t be long. They would be reunited soon enough. The wind whipped her dress around her ankles, her hair blowing wildly…
A deer looked up, thinking it heard something, but the forest was silent and empty.”