Title photo Seppuku by Spanish artist Pejac
The flight of geese outside my windows heralds the small death of Mother Nature; She, having fed on the vitality of summer, soon will lay dormant under a blanket of snow. So will I. I’ve tried to ask for help the only way I know how, and my call has gone unanswered. No one cares. Not even me. Those times that felt that I mattered to someone are priceless. I hide them away much like Gollum hid his Precious, a jewel in my chest. They mattered to me. It matters, because that’s what I will hold onto at the end. Don’t misunderstand, there is no blame, unless it’s on me. It falls squarely on me. Its my own fault for having faith, that sanguine expectation I’d avoided for so long it was second nature.
It’s not just emotional agony. There is more that I conceal and it eats at me, the black mass of my soul that just can’t stand the thought of waking up another day in this personal prison. I’m sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the small phial of white powder I’d procured earlier today in desperation for something, anything to take the pain away. Opening it means goodbye to sobriety, goodbye to the years of effort and self-discipline it took to kick it. It also means I can finally sleep, because there is more in the old coffee container above the kitchen sink. If I open the phial, I won’t stop until my heart does. Even though I’m not even a blip in your thoughts, I still feel your disapproval and hesitate.
But it was you, then; you, who insisted I was worth something more than just being considered a pussy with a hank of hair and pair of legs. You were the one who kept me here when I was sure I wanted to die, even after I tried to end my life. It was you who told me I was beautiful, that I was desirable and that you loved me. It didn’t matter how that love existed, just that it did and I want to hold onto that. I felt real and it kept me awake days and sleepless nights, until my sanity creaked. I still can’t understand how you could see me when I withdrew, or how you could see something in the mirror that I couldn’t and still can’t see.
My Hero, you swooped in and rescued the drowning psycho with a smile and pretty words, and like a fool, I believed the repeated insistence that you’d never leave. I wanted to believe in you. I needed to believe in somebody after so many reasons not to but was afraid because I knew deep down one day I’d be alone again after the vanishing act occurred. It was inevitable I suppose, just like every other person in my life who has made the same promises. Lo, behold, my fear proven correct. Again.
The phial is empty, as am I. My heart pounds a noiseless earthquake in my ears like a drumbeat. A bullet would be quicker but the exhilaration of knowledge that I am about to be free from my mortal bonds is a relief and nothing else matters except for the hunger that ravages my veins and makes my nose burn. The one thing that I have never been able to resist was the Siren call of the White. My chest hurts so badly that I’m panting. I’d forgotten that; it feels like life, and smells like Reaper. Soon she will be here, I hope. I’m afraid again. What if there is noth-