The first time I contemplated suicide was a real eye opener.
I was sorting dishes in my parent’s kitchen sink. The florescent light bulb hummed that annoying soft buzz that let you know it was on and, that no, a bug wasn’t in the house. I caught sight of myself, pale and bloodshot, in the 1970’s gold fractured mirror and zoned out.
The hum faded. The light dimmed. All I saw were two lifeless brown eyes staring back at me. I didn’t recognize them. Or rather I didn’t recognize myself. There was no me.
Somewhere amongst the rubble a knife found a hand. That hand squeezed that pummel as if its life depended on it. Together they remembered an ancient Asian ritual. Another hand joined the fun and cupped the two. It didn’t want to be left out.
Suds popped. Water slid down my arms and dropped onto the counter. The steel gleamed in the painful glare of that horrible light. Wet and sticky, it felt right.
The knife’s point pushed passed the thin cotton shirt. It pricked my abdomen. The barest trickle of blood slipped out as my daughter cried from the living.
The world snapped back into focus. The clank of steel ricocheting off the sink was all that left of that thought process.
Until many years later…
If you are thinking of suicide know that you are not alone. At any time you feel there is no one in your life you can talk with please call the free Suicide Hotline number @ 1-800-SUICIDE
Today's topic is intense. Please feel free to leave a comment or start a discussion. I will watch the comments closely. All I ask is that we keep open minds and hearts to all that speak up. Thank you.