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A Decision to Die.

I sat there in English class. Both books open. Trying to listen to the Professor as she mumbled incoherently about forming a good thesis, and definition of something or other. But it wasn't her, it was me. For in between her fragments and comma splices, whispering antagonistically in my head was the quote from Saul Bellow, in an early draft of HERZOG, "Don't cry, you idiot! Live or die but dont poison everything...." So I gave in. Break time and I gathered up my belongings and walked carelessly to my car, apologizing to myself for wasting the $300 on a class I knew I wasn't going to be around to finish anyway. So there it was. Tuesday, April 13, 1999, approximately 9:07 PM, I sat parked in my car at a kids park, drinking the home made cocktail of 4 boxes of unisom and a newly prescribed bottle of the antidepressant, Trazodone, which by the way as you can see doesn't work. I had one intention and one intention only at this point in my life, thought out both rationally and philosophically....and that was to die.

The decision to commit suicide did not come hastily. To begin with I used my God-given, life-expierencing, very own rationale. According to Websters NewWorld Dictionary.

"RATIONALE: the ability to reason logically, as by drawing conclusions from inferences and often connotes the absence of emotionalism."

"All right so I stole it form a dictionary." Regardless I used it. I thought about life without using my emotions. I thought about people who pick their noses while driving in cars on the highway and then act as if no one can see them. I thought about turtles without shells and it must suck to be naked and homeless all at once. I thought about being a small kid and not being able to protect myself from all the bigger people. I thought about God and how he created and then walked away, murmuring something about how HE has forgiven US. I thought about how, if even humanly possible, I could forgive him. Then I thought about death. That "thing" that lingers over us like our very own shadow, that strange "thing." And while thinking about this "thing," it dawned on me. It wasn't my shadow anymore. It no longer attached itself to my feet and trolleyed behind me, in front of me, nor on my sides, somehow, someway, when I wasn't paying any attention "it" crawled right on up inside me. "It" rearranged the spaces inside my brain to fit itself in..and slowly it consumes me. "It 'didn't need my emotion. "it" didn't need my inner most feelings. All "it" needed were my thoughts, my experiences, but most of needed my reasoning. Death understands. Death knew what I thought, how I reasoned. Death knows what rationale is, and knows just when and how to use it. When one decides rationally to commit suicide, then one must find a way to justify that act of committing suicide. I have learned that most that think about suicide tend to blame others for their suicidal thoughts, attempts or actual death. Here are some examples: 1. My parents are too hard on me, I just cant hang anymore. 2. My spouse is an idiot, I just cant do it anymore. or my favorite. 3. Life just sucks! Yes, now that's it...lets just blame it on the whole entire world. Utterly ridiculous. Now like I said, one rationally decides, to partake in ending the life one has given you, one needs to justify this act. Yes, I did this. And I thought about putting the blame on others. But I rationally thought how unfair that would be. So I brought Philosophy into it. I slept with Kierkegarrd, played with Nietzsche and toiled with Sartre. I learned who we are all ill creatures, how man is the most vicious animal of all, and learned that I was no superman. And then I read it. I found the justification I was looking for. The black and white writing that put everything into its proper perspective, and it ended with this:

" How unwillingly we think of things which powerfully injure our interests, wound or pride, or interfere with our wishes, with what difficulty do we determine to lay such things before our intellects for careful and serious that resistance of the will to allowing what is contrary to it to come under the examination of the intellect lies the place at which madness can break upon the mind...if the resistance of the will against the apprehension of some knowledge reaches such a degree that the operation is not performed in its entirely, then certain elements or circumstances become for the intellect completely suppressed, because the will cannot endure the sight of them; and then, for the sake of the necessary connections. the gaps that thus arise are filled up at pleasure; thus madness appears. for the intellect now imagines what does NOT exist. yet the madness, which has thus arisen, is the lethe of unendurable suffering, it was the last remedy of harassed nature, i.e.., the will. the final refuge is suicide."

and there it was. the decision to commit suicide using rationale and this act justified philosophically and with all in place, what more can be done? acceptance of the consequences that will fooolwo. and whether one fails or gets it right there will be consequences. and i will name just a few. Depending on ones beliefs., if one succeeds in the act of suicide, there is a God to then deal with. and most likely he will be an angry God. spending your lunch money on candy at the corner store instead of actually lunch when in 3rd grade would not compare to the anger this father would most likely feel towards you after you destroy what he has given to you, your life. But if your an Atheist, the it dont really matter you'll just turn into a big ball of energy and end up floating around somewhere anyway, but what is worse then both of those put together is this...."PEOPLE". Now if one fails at suicide (which I think is worse than any angry God or a being a big ball of gas mind you) is that one then has to deal with "people." People who want to stick you with needles, cut your clothes off, and they dont care if you just bought them for your death. People whose jobs it is to stick tubes down your nose and throat and then get pissed at you because you throw up all over them. People. And for all you blamers out there...there is the people who started you thinking about suicide in the first place! But I accepted this anyway. And after this rational decision, the philosophical justifying of it and the acceptance of the consequences. I have come to the conclusion...that next time I think I will jump!

The Journal



September 11, 2000


For a man needs only to be turned around once with his eyes shut in this world to be lostnot till we are lostdo we begin to find ourselves. -  Thoreau, Walden

 Its a trick to turn around once and know you are lost!   Knowing the crows crying in the dark, knowing that your supper wont come again tonightturn around once, eyes tight, the thoughts in your head. But you are not of our kind Doctor.  I always turn around twice with my eyes sealed and everything always goes gray and my mind flashes of strange happenings of, of the untold and I wish the unreal. opening my eyes I am always afraid to look-the inward look.  I search this gray and choke on the grapes and the thorns!


Almost Mid September, you and I Doctor, have walked thought these antiseptic tunnels in this pink palace (military Hospital) and have stood separately in broken lines and waited while they unlocked the doors.   And what the hell is Shibboleth?  My hands are now empty, I am slowly unraveling them from the lives they workOf course I love you and why wouldnt I?  God, what large children we are, so stupidly silent, noisy and alone... am I still lost?


September 12, 2000

 Today I watch the gulls strike at the top of the sky, up there goading the whole blue world.  Inside my head I watch a child play and a single destructive memory comes hawking in, riding the current of blackness, this current of hunger hangs almost carved out of silk.  Seven, the world is full of them.  A world of beasts thrusting at them rocks as the sevens hold out their hands for their brothers crumbs.   Father do you remember me?  I hear this and see it again; can you see this Dr. Brown?!  Of course not and I am pissed that you cannot.

 I laughing, he lifted me high atop his shoulders, small at the rough legs of the strangers. Was not afraid.  He held my hand.  Then I began trembling for this was the sound where it began. My breath pounding up to see and I climbed into the air.  And I have written of this before but not so vivid.  Where my nervous fingers were forced to touch the moving head, lungs, breath, my face swinging over the human bed and screaming from inside let me go, it hurts, let me go.  Let me go.  So he and they gave me back to myself all ash and a bony shell, I never heard me rattle when I walked until much later though.  Rattling like stones in a bucket, they had blest me with fire, for it was the way.  I remember the cathedral of spells. I remember when something cried deep within and now I want to throw away this bony shellcan you hear me scream Dr.Brown when I look at you?  Your kind face, your arms folded, the September smell on your sorted clothes.  Unfortunately I see, smell, taste and feel it all.

 September 13, 2000

 This is Wednesday.  I have tried today to breathe it all back in.  But life is a trick.  Life is a kitten in a sack.  A sack of time death has avoided.  How distant everything is today and tonight I will spill toward the stars with these empty years and have a hang over in your office tomorrow.  Can you hear me scream when I look at you Dr. Brown?  I close my eyes and see him standing up anonymously, straight and among them, between their sand pails and nursery rhymesa gunDr. Brown can you hear me scream when I look at you?  And does the current of my breath, which at one time in one other letter was 6 or 7 days long. I am becoming rage; a face that I clearly recognize and I dont feel that you would any longer blink in surprise at this.


September 14, 2000

 To un-speak again. Hopeless is such sanity can I touch some face that I recognize?  What was it all for?  Others have traded life before and refused to not speak. You Dr. Brown are a visitor.  A fragile guest.  If only I could touch your cheeks like flowers.  I bruise against them, I unlearn daily, and I break from them.  You Dr. Brown are my inheritor, and with my head down will hand you off, trembling the selves we will lose, Suicide says,  Go child, who is my sin and nothing more Dr. Brown can this be so?

 Today I spoke up and interrupted you, warning you of the wars that are about to come.  If there is a God I would he is testing meagain.  But we both know this absurd.  And I tell you, you will tip you boot feet out of that hall, rocking from its sour sound, out onto the crowded street, letting your spectacles fall as you stop passers-by to mumble your guilt while your ears diethe after-math of my suicide?  

Nawww you wont react that way, but it was much the same for me when I was 13 and it was left for me, in front of meHuman brains on a white wall that have slid to the floor look like spaghetti and red jello-o.sorta.  I remember when they picked her up off the floor to put her on the coroners gurney how the rest of her brains feel out and the chunks of bony skull(excuse me while I puke again)


Everything has changed now, the measure that I have lost, silks my pulse.  The air rings for that astonishing rite, how ironic I told you Dr. Brownhow this untimely lust has tossed this flesh at the wind that was past and that past and the past again which is now the futureforever and ever.  I am a fist of my unease just sitting hereit keys my out of time luck and Luckless appetite.  Can you hear what I say?  Can you hear me scream when I look at you Dr. Brown?


Tiffany just called. Wants to know if its cool she comes over tonight.  I wonder if she ever thinks how there must be more to living a brief bright bridge or a slow Braille touchwhy me?  Why now?  TO be taken to a place so almost parallel as in my youth.  I filed in as an exile, looked at, as almost alien, then our sameness spread across the group of the room, the sameness it still fucking survives.  Its all in the senses ya know, evil knows evil!   Words didnt even have to be spoken; only this time I am an adult. Unfortunately Dr.Brown and without your consent or complete awareness, you are caught now in my dying and I hope you can hold us up well, and hear the last of my confessions.


By instinct I am arming the waiting wave, its like a giant whose mouth is hung open.  I ride on the lips observing my children paddling their ages in, under the glare of the noon chipping its light out.  My young, young children, so innocent and happy, if there is a God I think for them I will thank him for keeping them oblivious and ignorant to the way life truly is.  I dream for them that they grow to be like a balanced wavegigantic and straight.


July, the last time I was assaulted, there was no balance to help me.  The odor of death hung in the air like rotting potatoes.  Inside my head I saw the others reaching for each other then lay down deep into what I call, the blackness, and it was I who burst through this perfect skinlike a bean bag, out flung, head loose as I lay thereI think we I die again and live again.


Tonight before I went in, I laid on the lawn, green grass wrinkled under me, the wise starts bedding over me, looking up into my window a funnel of red heat running out from the sunlamp in the bathroomI told the stars my questions and thought God could really see the heat and the painted light, elbows, knees, dreamsdamn I am high!


September 15, 2000

 Father, this years jinx rides me hard apart.  I know they shocked your heart 10 or 12 timesboiling it like a stone.  You left me here to shuffle and disencumber, you left me with boxes of pictures of people I hate to know!  I touch their cardboard faces, their eyes as thick as wood in this album, I will never know exactly what these faces are all about so I will lock them into their book and throw them out for they have all overslept.  And I wonder in this hoarded span can love preserver?  Whether or not it can, I outlived you and how I wish I could bend down my strange face to yours and whisper in your dead earNO, I will NEVER forgive you.

 Blood running from my mouthif this is hell, the hell is not much anymore.  Neither special nor as ugly as I have been lead to believe.

 Child what are you wishing for?  What pact are you making?  Enough!!!!


September 16, 2000

 No other place to fleethis scene of the disordered senses.


September 18, 2000

 With this keyboard I type with my hands, my selves and with these dead disciples, I will grapple though rain curses my window and a faint whisper of let the poems be made.   I went to bed like a horse to its stall last night, in bed I cradled my salty knees and kissed the children goodnight through these solid walls, I can feel my heart pump like the ocean tides.   Voyages only I own, no passport but I wish I was whiskey fortified though I dont even drink.  It sucks to use your own bones for crutches.  I think I think too much. I wonder if fish swim past the eyes of God?  I wonder if he is the one that says,let them pass.  TO conjure up my daily bread. To endure, somehow to endure the rest of this night.  Ya know I am tired of being a woman, tired of my mouth and breasts.  I have been open and undresses, we move our arms and legs together as if all one skin.  I am no more a woman than Christ was a man.  I think of the intense is great but I tell you this in thought only.  Listen! We must never! Yea, yea and all those thingssex its a language of itself. The breathing.


September 19, 2000

 I wonder if you can hear the unsaid clearly.  I doubt it because you cant even see the unseen at all Dr.Brownalthough today we were closeyour acting like a teenage adolescent, like one of kahi patients, thinking he was invincible.  But Dr. Brown, I dont existtherefore I AM!  I am a God and I have quit gathering myselfs in like cut flowers and asking them how they are and where have they all been


 To lose the earth you know, for greater knowing; to lose the life you have, for greater life; to leave the friends you loved, for greater loving; to find a land more kind than home, more large than earth

Thomas Wolfe

It is called waiting on the edge.  Dr Brown hear me now, in my hand lies unblessed a black rosary, though you cant see it, and I am an unbeliever.  Permit me this grace, this crossing over, submerged in my own past and apparently my own madnessI think only my hands are alive.  I want to feel your mouth touch mineto breath life into me?  Yea right!

Closer and closer comes the hour of my death as I rearrange my face and unravel undeveloped.  I have entered a strange place without words...its funny without words one may be handed bread.  My tender physician I am in this domain of silence, the kingdom of the crazies and the sleepers who sail over a terrible hardness.  Twenty weeks or twenty days ill cross toward it.  I am 27 hours out where night goes on forever and I think it sucks that God has peeled my life back to its original start!

In one hand Dr. Brown I will now have to hold my silence from you.   There will be no track for you to follow anymore. Only a peculiar waiting.  There will be nothing to pick up.  There will be nothing.  We inhabit here, number by number pushed in and out like a needle, and I will inherit the darken...calling it like a Jew at the pearly gates and you will inherit my journal.

The mirror...i look in my eyes like two shadows, like that of sparrows, the do no age.  The smile, all wit, all charm, invincible.  The face, I wish I could pull all the roots out of it and find her, how can they say she is me and I am her part...YUK.  And just where the hell is she anyway???


September 21, 2000

We all have animals that are half hidden, that are browsing continuously, where noting is obsolete and everything is possible...the beginning of the end.

I keep hearing the same message,  who cares about you, who cares. No one has ever seen me explode like a pistol.  NO one has actually seen me fall apart, or come undone.  Sad as I sit back inhale and exhale, wheezingthat no one is even worthy.


September 22, 2000

A strange place this odd home, where my face sits in my hands so full of distance, so full of an immediate fever.  Once the Romans believed that noon was the ghost hour, but its not noon, its the night with a full moon.  They enter and say, your bones are lovely, and before their strange hands I had that already formed.  Let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort...standing still at the doors, they are so full of themselves, like white stones.  Yes I have the instructions.

Thought I never touched, after the tequila and southern comfort, the drugs and bled the red bloodin the morning I vomited outside behind the glass sliding door.  I heard a hyena laugh out of nowhere.  Will it be today that we argue and shout about how YOUR LOSS IS GREATER THAN MINE! YOUR PAIN IS MORE VALUABLE! or will today our skins meet delicately in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lockand will one of us shout MY NEED IS MORE DESPERATE!

I would touch you Dr.Brown.  Your pulse brooding under your shirt, each shoulder well built, your arms, thin birches, the white teeth, the tongue that has never met meso I will speak of your eyes, each colored iris, and the quick pupils that follow intently.  Eyes can be ruined by mercy and lustand the heat, the heat can undo itself, everyone undoes themselves at one time or another, everyone has walked naked.  How strange that you are so tender Dr. Brown, I wonder f you are human.  If you have excitable muscles, and a ripe neck where its sensitive toward the underside of the jaw, and have you ever had to grit your teeth arch your back and pushing in and pulling back fighting it, grabbing the hands, and intertwining the fingersits all in the breathing remember, eyes half open, shadows move along the wall...yea I wonder what it would be like if you were human.

Every bed had been condemned but not by morality or law, but by time.


September 23, 2000

I love you too much David, and only this morning your body sat before me with its shoulders gathered out like a Greek chorus-both of us coiled in this slippery life.  That was this morning, but this is now and I sit alone.  You have a tongue that comes from your lips, half animal and half bird you say caught in the doorway of your heart.  Yesterday I started following your rules, making the priorities right, passing by your red veins and blue veins, my hands down your backbone, hands between the legs where you display your inner knowledge.  Last night I watched your face after love, close the pillow, half-asleep besides me, while my fingers drew little lines on your chest, while my fingers tried to touch your cheeks, while I drew I LOVE YOU on your arm, as I whisperedhey wake up and you mumbled  shhhh, im tired!  Two days ago I told you a little known grotto...several.were people that are not hallucinations but are very real.  I entered into their domain wondering if again I could.  THEY let their bodies lose, all their loneliness or what ever it truly is called, they did not mind, it had nothing to do with me personally.  I calmly trailed over them, all adultstoday I showed you what I had told you, as water so clear you could read a book through it, but now I know that water is a strange thing that sits only on a tongue as in a deep womb.  You have given me a new grotto, where every color again is black and white; you say, look! You are a liar! Look! You fucked me over whore! Look! You can not be trusted! Although I never touched. I was only the taker of pictures.  My eyes once again shut down ashamed again, as you take my car keys and become my keeper again telling me  I have to sort out my feelings

After all this, after hearing all the years of this. And these are the words that ring aloud in my head, screaming like a toll bellDavid you should have been careful for what you have wished for, again I sit here dumbfounded and confuses and again having to you...apologize for something you wanted.

I think I suffer according to the digits of my hate.  David why dont you give me a report of the condition of my soul?  David, why dont you give me a complete statement of my actions?  Number my sins on the Grocery list so I can see.  Its funny for some strange reason I cannot walk on water.  Your silence makes me a clairvoyant, this silence always leads in the assistance of my death in one way or another but its something you cant ever see as you walk out of the room ending the argument with a typical fuck you.  I was left alone, quite alone and using up the darkness.  I rolled up into a ball on the couch and there I went to bed...I really do need a stand in for God I think.


September 24, 2000

Tonight the horizon slowly bleeds itself and goes out of sight, and I wonder about this lifetime with myselfI could as the sky but I would rather ask the first star.  Why am I here?  Why do I live in this house?  Who is responsible? Eh?  Then the darkness, as black as a bruise and the boy is here, sitting in the chair on the back porch with me.  I wonder if I talk to him, if I would be talking to God in someway, I mean he is dead and this is how it went:


Me:   Will you morally make an assessment of me?

Him:   Put on a clean shirt before you die.

Me:   You want me clean God?

Him:   No blood, no sweat, no sperm, and no tears.

Me:   What is death?

Him:  What is life?

Me:   They can both kiss my ass, and why are you here, and what are you waiting for?!

Him:   How much time do you think you have left?

Me:   If your God then you know.

Him:   its coming and I know your dateand dont forget to go to the mailbox.

Me:    You know that whole time I laid in the soiled, cold and prayed for youwell and me too...

Him:   So what!  And dont forget a clean shirt!


September 25, 2000

 We have begun our decent and we have begun to plug up the eye sockets to keep our Gods in.  My skull is starting to ache from the crowding and my lungs hurt like hell...not a good thing.   Suffering is great, almost as great as sex, I bet Jess would agree.  Hell they both lead to sleep eventually so who cares. Idiot!  So why shouldnt you Dr. Brown enter my element for a moment?  Unusually awkward to walk, it is without grace, and there is no rhythmnope you wouldnt fit it.  Its cool now how everyone is finally starting to see that an artery of this soul has been severed and this soul is beginning to bleed all over them, messing up their clothesselfbe careful with your words, even your sick, premeditated, what you think to be miraculous ones.  Fuck you self! This time they wont fail me, I have too much I want to say and no one, I mean NO ONE can stop me now...self but you know that words arent good enough, yea whatever and off your knees. And what was it that David told me todayoh yea You put yourself in this position. no its not check mate. Yet, but soon.


September 26, 2000

 Now that I have written many words, I find the effort useless.  Feeling this hunger so acutely.  I know I should make the call, but I am too tired and doubt I could even make it to the phone anyway.  And what exactly would be the point so im going to let him tend to the kids as I drift off to sleep...i pray.


September 27, 2000

 Death sits whit his key in my lock.  Not one day is taken for granted anymore.  Even Nursery rhymes have put me in hockif I die before I wake.  Each night in bed my husband sings  Baa, baa black sheep, and we pretend that all is certain and good, that this will never end. 

 Dear dead kid, I consider you my best friend. Would you like to play dress u or jacksI think we even have pick up sticks.  But surely if we did and if I told I would be in the hospital, here in this house there are other bodies, whenever I see a two year old near a pool.

 Dr. Brown I am scrubbing the remainder of me off you.  I have eaten the cross and digested its lore, I have placed my own head on the kettle because in the end death wont settle for anything lessyet I have one more errand to run, I need to find a place that advertises Cognac and Razor blades...untie our bones...oh yea and Dr. Brown your done with our case, turn to your next customer and forget our face.


The end of September.



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