by Mimi Bordeaux
I am driving very fast for I have a destination and I want to get there. Multiple drugs coursing through my bloodstream.
I have my instrument of death. I can’t remember when I last ate, my appetite as extinct as my sleep. Rolling over up and down in the sheets for three months restless as a snake. Sleep depravation ravages one’s soul to a ghostly wan draft.
I move from the loungeroom saying goodbye to an oblivious mother down in the garage. My souped-up old sports car, a Toyota Celica is heavy and reliable. I back out cruising to the main road where I leadfoot it. It has started to rain. The National State Forest where I am going. It’s not far and a well kept part of this area. I guffaw silently to myself at the face on whoever finds me, hanging by a trusty heritage tree’s branches.
As I’m driving, the car starts spinning out of control
The tires slide on the road and I’m at a dangerous speed, zigzagging wildly across to the other side of oncoming traffic. My heart thumps madly as I use all my might to steer the wheel around, landing in a soggy ditch opposite the woods. I sit breathing heavily turning the car around back onto the right side and continue.
I leave my ID, wallet and bag on the seat. Locking the door I climb over a locked gate and head deep into the woods. The long grass climbs up my legs as the rain falls harder. I walk further on over stumps and thickets.
I am waiting, thinking. It will take them a few days to find me being right at the back of the deep darkening thicket.
Standing, I think of all my reasons
No future, career gone, broken marriage. Time to go. Ciao! Bye! I don’t move. My thoughts become scrambled, invading my concentration. I’m becoming frustrated with the preposterous inability to fulfill a simple task.
The will to live is stronger, impeding my efforts to end it.
This time I think for 20 minutes.
I don’t follow through with the attempt
At first, my incapability reminds me of all the stupid things I have done making me really pissed off. I move to try agian. God almighty! Is the urge to live so potent I can’t die? Or is it nature getting back at me for treading in her fine forest and committing a sin.
I start to cry, then go blank. After a while, I climb down. The trek back to the car seems far greater. I go home. I have survived.
This story in no way endorses self-harm. If you are in mental anguish please seek help.Mimi Bordeaux
USA Crisis Text 741-741
United Kingdom 116 123
Australia 13 11 14
International suicide hotlines