I feel melancholy as pain pulsates in my body as well as my head. I am in a most peculiar situation where I constantly feel as if I am drowning within my own body. It had started out years ago as a deep cynicism about life which turned towards depression and continued to evolve as a vicious circle of thoughts and actions.
I had once nurtured a steady daily routine composed of work, lunch with co-workers, evenings at the gym and a home-made meal but I found that my strength to sustain this routine diminished as I began to feel lost heading towards a monotonous destiny. It started with eating lunch alone a few days a week just to get my head away from everyone else’s bullshit. My exertion at the gym was half hearted and my progress plateaued. Meals were characterized by take away and delivered fast food. Soon I was eating lunch alone and skipping workouts altogether. At night I was often restless and could not fall asleep. It really began to get bad when I began to be unable to sleep without sleeping pills and neglect personal hygiene to rush off to work. This lack of vitality brought me a lot of shame. It has gotten to the point that I haven’t shown up for work in over a week.
The sinking feeling expanded to the point that it pervaded every cell in my body. Negative thoughts promoted more negative thoughts until life just began to implode all around me. Most friends and coworkers began to distance themselves, while the few who reached out were met with a blank stare as I attempted to feign composure and often offered a puzzled smirk of ignorance when they remarked on my out of character behaviour.
Looking to the past, I feel a lot of guilt and shame for some of the choices I made. But someone when it comes down to my present situation, I make those same choices and treat people the same way that I feel so guilty about. This only adds to the pain as I try to flip between past, present and future in search of an answer to where it went wrong. Alternatively, when I look for a blissful experience to escape from the present, all I can remember is the opportunities that I missed and all the misfortune I had while dark clouds nestling over my head.
The therapist prescribed antidepressants in complete ignorance of the fact that I was taking any sleeping pills that may or may not have an adverse effect on me. I was careful to try them separately at first but nothing seemed to help the insomnia or depression. Recklessness appeared as all the hope I had for a cure turned into despair. I took more of these pills wishing that some combination of these drugs would cure my ailment. I started to drink to numb the pain while dreaming of it acting as a catalyst with the medication. Death was merely an afterthought, nothing serious at the time.
What had gone so wrong in my life that has led me to this point?
Drinking goes hand in hand with so many other addictions and habits I have come to acquire over the years that now it feels second nature to me. Hours spent lost in the digital world ever since I was a kid, the excessive masturbation, binge drinking, drug abuse and television. These were just some of the distractions used to numb the pains of the real world which also distanced me further away from everything else.
I remember in the third year of high school, picking up some weed after school. During a nightly two hour gap where one parent began work while the other was returning from work, I would get really stoned and indulge myself. It was quite convenient that as I came down from the drugs I could simply just pass out in bed. This continued for almost an entire school year until it became difficult to eat or sleep without getting high. During the school day, I would try to immerse myself in school work because I felt far too empty and ashamed to look anyone in the eye and make conversation.
Later, weed would enable me to cope with some very difficult nights through university and well into my career. Usually these were weekends or nights leading up to exams where I was stressed out, alone and cripplingly depressed. My mind would clear just from the expectation of the very first hit from my bong. While sorrow and despair cleared out from my head, desire would to flood in with the occasional episode of anxiety. It was a step in the right direction but I was merely trading one destructive behaviour for another less destructive behaviour. These episodes were usually temporary and would pass over once I got through the stressful event and I would return to a normal level of functioning.
There had to be something positive to reflect on. High school is frequently cited as “the best days of our lives.” All I can think about my affliction as I ran into wall after wall while ensuring absolute secrecy from the entire world. In fact, I had separated my true feelings from the world that I felt as if I was in another world from everyone else, where my thoughts and feelings could never be understood by another soul. I still feel that way. I can’t imagine the shame and guilt that would come with another person knowing that I was an empty shell of a human being. They probably already do. How could they know and still treat me as if I’m normal? Are they really that ignorant?
The sun continued its grand arch in the sky causing a flare of light in the room to catch my eye. The metallic surface radiated in such a way that it appeared to be heavenly in stark contrast to my filthy room. I could only think about how this was one last object of hope in my life: a stainless steel Beretta.
It sat on the night table by the third world alarm clock. Today, I’m lacking the ability to even dwell on the stupid alarm clock and the worldly conditions it arose out of only to sit in my room. My thoughts can’t seem escape the sinking feeling penetrating every ounce of my being. The gun is glaring at me discretely from across the room. It offers hope to numb the pain in a way that no drug will ever be able to. It will allow me to plunge into the eternal darkness of death. I like to think of it as nothing but infinite nothingness. It certainly sounds like a pleasant alternative to my current situation.
I've always wondered what drove people to commit suicide. I am quite certain that the cause is something along the lines of this feeling of perpetual suffering. Everything seems shrouded by the cloud of my misery, nothing or nobody is exempt. It embodies every passing moment and is absolutely unbearable. Even the thought of death is comforting in comparison to my condition.
I set my gaze on the Beretta. The clouds of thought in my mind clear out but the essence of my being continues to ache. Is it possible that this is the solution I have been searching for? The hairs of my body stand on end as I catch myself contemplating suicide. This is no longer some pleasant fantasy of escaping reality but the actual contemplation of committing the act of escaping reality. Literally picking up that gun, casually flicking off the safety and popping it into my mouth, in a totally innocent matter, and flick the trigger causing a bullet to surge forward and spray some colour onto my drab walls.
I wonder if I could fire off two bullets before I am completely incapacitated. It’s a comical thought but it temporarily puts my mind at ease away from the horrifying thought of suicide. Surely it isn't possible, but somehow one last impulse from the brain could stimulate the muscle enough to flicker the finger one time and fire another bullet into wherever the gun is pointing at the time. Chances are if a second shot were to go off, the gun would likely no longer be situated in my mouth, unless I clench down hard enough on the barrel.
I can’t stand the idea of returning to contemplating my own demise but I still crawl within range of the gun, pick it up off the night table and flop over against the wall. The weight of the stainless steel feels impressive in my hands. I entertain myself by fitting the barrel into my mouth, clench down with my jaw and allow my hands to drop down to either side of my body. The weight of the gun is too much for my teeth so after a few seconds I spit out the barrel allowing the gun to drop to my lap. Two shots in my own head probably can’t be done.
I've given myself a lot to think about.
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