I tried to kill myself once. I took a knife and traced the veins of my left wrist to the best of my ability. I still carry one of the scars. I look at it sometimes, when things begin weighing down on me. It reminds me that yes...it can get worse. It can always get worse. It might not ever get any better. Probably won't ever get any better. But it COULD be hellishly worse.
I understand suicide. I understand it very well. I have heard the sweet siren call and responded. It was only my continued pathetic ineffectiveness that has me here today.
But I am here. And that siren call no longer sings in my ears as it once did. Call it pride. Call it tenacity. Call it whatever you like. I decided that whatever celestial force kept its hateful nasty eye turned my way... whatever vicious cunt of a fate kept slamming me into the ground.... would not get me to give up.
I was never foolish enough to believe I could win. But to simply continue, that is something. Isn't it? It's only a flesh wound, right?
I'm so tired though. I stand, over and over. I smile and I love. I hope.
And I begin to wonder why. What does it matter? Yes. My children need the shield of my strength. But when they are off on their own, what then?
What then shall I defend? Like the stalwart sentinel lifting the heavens, when will the work be done?
I am so damned tired.



