Uncensored

Part 7

There had always been only one person knowing pain the way needed to, so she could also know mine. It wasn't the person I married though. He was so wrapped up in physical pain that he was oblivious to how much a soul can hurt. Not only did he not understand, he also didn't want to.

I've never been a dark person. I've always been sunshine, smiles, and happiness. But you can only know light, if you know darkness. And my light was a choice. I chose light over darkness. Maybe it was more of an attempt, a never-ending one to overcome whatever was hurting me inside.

The only person who I intrinsically knew understood my pain had been her.
But I had left her behind, had left her to her own demons, only to find I couldn't battle mine.

I went to the bedroom one night, this American Bedroom, with a beautiful Queen bed, an expensive and extremely comfortable mattress, and matching nightstands, and I opened one of them. Carefully and slowly, I took out the handgun tucked inside that drawer. It lay heavy in my hand, not too much so, but enough so that there was no doubt that it was real. I had seen it, touched it, many times before, had shot it, too. I knew it was loaded, but I wasn't quite sure now, always got confused, whether we kept the safety on or off. Probably on. Then again, no kids in the house...

I sat with the gun in my hand, just looking at it, until I finally lifted it to my head. I laid it on the side of my head which feels pretty stupid, only to realize that touching it with your lips is even more uncomfortable. Was I entertaining to kill myself? No I wasn't. I was trying out what it felt like if I could. Of course you can't try that out, because it doesn't become real until you form an intention and I didn't have the intention. The reason why I was crying the entire time, the reason why I had even gone upstairs to sit with that gun, the reason why it I had just wanted to hold it, was that I knew I couldn't ever kill myself. I had realized that killing myself was just another thing I simply wasn't allowed to do.

Like I wasn't allowed to cry, allowed to be sad, allowed to miss, allowed to regret, allowed to hurt, allowed to be dark.

For all the broken people in my life
For my mother who battled cancer twice
For her, my love
For my broken husband

- I always was the light. That seemed to be just who I had to be, what the world needed me to be. Maybe it was the innate need to be, to feel, needed. I don't know why this isn't considered one of the most basic human needs- it certainly seems to be one of mine. I've always needed to be needed by someone. Darkness needs light.

So the gun and I were utterly lonely together. I wasn't alone; after all I was married and living the dream. But I was lonely. Completely desolate.

I would never be allowed to kill myself, because I was too self-aware and conscious of what it would do to the people who loved me. So it never was an option for me. I was never suicidal, simply because I couldn't afford to be. For years, I had kept a package of sleeping pills, not even knowing if they would enough to do any harm, but to give me the feeling of control, the feeling that I had a way out of my own life. The few shy encounters I had made with a razor blade made me feel even less powerless because now I had to hide scars, which turned out to be just another burden. The relief of the blood wasn't worth the ensuing bother of hiding the wounds. And now I tortured myself with the sight of a loaded gun that was completely useless to me. Never could I answer to the consequences for what would happen if I killed myself, mostly to my family and my husband.

Because I was the light (right?) there would be no real warning, none of your usual indications, nothing anyone "could have done." So there wouldn't just be pain, I knew there would be blame, and guilt, and so much irreparable life-taking pain.

I may be self-destructive, but I wasn't a destroyer in and of itself. There was just no way to justify causing that much pain to others. Ever. 

It's quite ironic, because I couldn't be scared less of death.
It's human nature to avoid death and to be afraid of it; it's called self-preservation. It's what fuels religions and spirituality.
But there have always been only two things that scared me about death:

1. The death of others I loved
2. What happened to the people left behind

These two thoughts really are inseparable, because knowing what the death of a loved one would do to me was exactly what caused me to know what it would do to them in the case of my own death. But I was never afraid of my own death. I don't believe in heaven or hell, I don't believe in resurrections, I don't believe in any sort of judgment. I have always been painfully rational about death, just like my science books: your heart stops beating, your brain and body die, you decompose. I don't believe in ghosts, and only very limitedly in spirits that survive one's death. I think we leave behind the work we've done, the legacy we've created, and the memories that people have. But most importantly contributing to the lack of my fear of death is the belief that dying doesn't hurt. I mean, the process of dying itself can be painful, but not being anymore, not thinking, not feeling, not existing- that is not painful (because a dead brain cannot feel anything anymore). People want to mourn missed chances, missed opportunities, regrets, and various lacks- lack of time, lack of love, lack of money, lack of more (of anything). Can it ever be enough?

That is also why I have tried to live my life with love- because I believe that's what I can leave behind. I can leave behind the love I have given someone and all that came with it.

When I felt not only empty of tears, but when my disappointment slowly faded into the background, melting into the rest of the darkness, I put down the gun and closed the drawer. It would stay there. Teasing me, but also maybe comfortingly reminding me that I still had a way out. Supposedly it was keeping me safe? Oh, if anything, guns don't make us safer. Not with others, and certainly not with ourselves.