I’m having a difficult time today.
I’m not sure if it’s my 15th Anniversary of Surviving Suicide inching closer, the Divorce Process I started(I found out he falsified his injuries in Afghanistan. Devastation is an undercurrent now)
Or, is it My Colitis has kept me bedridden and hospitalized since Tuesday.
All I know is I’m hurting.
And I think about it more than ever.
It’s a Disease. I am conscious of this.
I can never turn it off, silence the conclusion, dim the pain.
I have to wake up, live it, move on.
But, I am reminded everyday of the interconnections I have with objects of Suicide.
When you look at a Train, you think of Transportation, movement, time.
When I see a Train, I drift away and envision how Attila Jozsef was crushed by a Carriage Car after he threw himself on the tracks to end his life.
*There were witnesses to his Suicide.
Or the stories of the New York Subway Suicides my late Uncle would recall on our Sunday phone chats.
He would run down to the platform to catch the Subway to work, and the walls would be painted red.
“Someone jumped. They just jumped.” my late Uncle Karcsi would say as if the shock of Public Suicide wore away.
I was fascinated.
The longer I remain here the more I become disconnected.
A change of country or state, furthering my education and Writing will only prolong my suffering.
I am willing to accept these maladies with a universal longing for a Cure.
I have NEVER found Suicide a Selfish act.
Actually, I feel with all my soul it takes infinite courage to end your own life.
What’s selfish is living life dead.