Last night was a bad night.

If you know me well enough, then you know that Memorial Day weekend in 2009 was the first time I seriously considered taking my life. A slew of doctor visits and therapy sessions later, I was feeling just okay again, but it was enough to keep me going until my “glitch switch” turned back to “Happy” and I stopped having the ideations or “death pictures” as I call them.
Let me tell you how these things work for me, since I realize it is different for everyone. 
The first one happened as I was talking to my best friend. We work together, and we were joking around about whatever we joke about. I was genuinely smiling for the first time in a couple of days. I looked down at my arm, which I had resting on the desk, and my brain showed me my arm on the desk, but covered in blood. It is almost like a flashback in a movie, where your protagonist sees an image that isn’t there. 

The next time it happened, I was talking to my mom. She was talking about the campground she was packing the car for, and my brain showed me myself hanging from the ceiling, much like I would imagine she would see if she were the one to find me.

The next time, I was sitting with Gizmo the cat, watching cartoons. I wasn’t thinking about anything (finally!), my mind was completely numbed by the animation flashing in front of me on the screen, the next thing I knew, my mind was telling me to kill myself. I shook it off (as I always do) and ten minutes later, there was the voice again. “It will be better once you’re gone.” 

“You are worthless. It won’t matter.”

“You are a failure.”

“No one will miss you.”

The last time this happened, I went to the nursing home to visit Gramma and Pappaps. That is no longer an option. 

By two a.m. I was all set to drive my car to the hospital up the road.  I don’t want to die! I am fucking terrified of death! Why would my brain be so adamantly pro-death?  I thought the heart was the weakling and the brain was the pro-survival powerhouse that kept us all from pulling the proverbial trigger. Or, I guess, the actual literal trigger.
So, I did what my therapist (who now no longer lives/works anywhere near here) always told me to do. Make something. Channel what I am feeling to paper. Get the demon the fuck out of my head. 

The inspiration came from a piece I was working on the night before… and a piece I worked on a month ago. Basically, everything I have been playing with for months brought me to the finished piece, and the voice I gave my emotions last night:


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