In three days, it will be one year since my last real suicidal ideation. I have had them over the years, when I felt cornered or trapped in a life that was somehow too difficult, and when I could find no hope.
This time last year, the approaching anniversary of the abortion weighed heavily on my heart. Every year it got heavier, but last year it was more than I could manage. All I could see was the pain behind me, and the promise of more to come, so on the 22nd of August last year, I took my gun down off the shelf and just stood there crying. Ultimately, I couldn’t pull the trigger. I wasn’t afraid to die. On the contrary, I was afraid to live any longer. I didn’t pull the trigger because I couldn’t take all my hurt and dump it on others.
Not much has changed in the last year, and yet it is somehow different. I am still keenly aware of the anniversary bearing down on me, and I guess it could be said that I have been keeping track of my emotions. I don’t know if it is a good thing or a bad one, but the best way I can describe them is numb. On the few occasions that I have experienced an emotion, it is generally anger.
Ironically, I think I miss the hurt and the angst. I have even tried to tap into it from time to time, just to feel something. I suppose I should be careful what I wish for.
ManWithoutAMap 