The Logistics of Suicide (standard:drama, 1091 words)
Author: Sare	Added: Dec 30 2001	Views/Reads: 3421/2262	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Otherwise entitled, "Why I've Decided Not to Do It".

Sometimes you think it’s not that you need to be you, dead, but someone
else altogether - the Whore of Babylon, Eve in the garden, the Virgin 
Mary - just anyone at all other than who you are.  The thought scares 
you just a little - could you ride the seven-headed-beast, accept the 
serpent’s temptation, give birth in a stable? - but not nearly as much 
as the alternative - could you scrape a knife across your skin, tie a 
rope round your neck, or chase a bottle of aspirin with a bottle of 
vodka?  The other alternative is to carry on being you; you’re sorry if 
the prospect is less than thrilling for you.  When you were younger, 
the times you wanted to die were at definable moments of hurt, anger, 
pain, or sadness.  Then it moved on, recently, to a series of tiny, 
insignificant choices - should you eat dinner / get ready for school / 
go to class / read a book, or should you kill yourself?  You are an 
actress with a recurring role - your contract seems about to expire but 
at the last moment is renewed, seemingly by pure chance, sheer luck.  
In the meantime you suffer through each grueling day in a sort of daze. 
 The day’s biggest challenge might be a simple telephone call, and yet 
you may as well be trying to scale a mountain. 

Depression comes and goes.  In the throes it is a cloud hanging low over
your head, distorting your vision and hazing your thoughts.  Every 
single aspect of your life is filtered through it, from relationships 
to judging the distance between you and the speeding car.  You are 
normally extremely articulate and very intelligent, and yet when it 
comes to this you struggle for words: how to explain to someone who has 
never experienced it that you can’t just “snap out of it,” “get over 
it,” or any of those well-meaning but nearly nonsensical placates?  How 
to explain anything at all, when speech and language have become part 
of the realm of the insurmountable: the daily struggle to survive... 
the incessant wondering if you even want to? 

The human body is an amazing thing.  Sometimes when you’re depressed,
you sleep not at all... lay awake for hours on end each night and drift 
into an uneasy doze not long before you must rise.  Other times you 
sleep endlessly, rising with difficulty and more than the usual amount 
of reluctance.  Eating patterns are similar.  Usually you have no 
interest in food when you are depressed... but sometimes you eat and 
eat, not knowing why.  But still your body harbours the will to 
survive... though your heart isn’t in it and your soul screams away 
from it, your body insistently tugs you towards health. 

You’ve heard in movies and songs that there are other people who feel as
though they are screaming and not being heard, but privately you doubt 
that anyone else could feel this way... that it is unique to you and 
you alone.  Some days you marvel at your strength: even feeling the way 
you do, you’ve managed to make it this far.  Other days you bemoan that 
same strength and wish it away... wish for the cowardice you need to 
end your life.  You know that most people have it backwards: to kill 
yourself requires extreme cowardice... to live takes courage and 
strength. 

The Whore of Babylon who rides the seven-headed beast, dressed in her
scarlet robes... Eve in the garden of Eden who fell for the serpent’s 
temptation and ate the fruit... the Virgin Mary who faced down the Holy 
Spirit and the angel Gabriel and gave birth in the stable...  There are 
many women in history whom you could choose as role models.  You are an 
atheist and see the Bible as a collection of myths... why do you choose 
these women as paradigms of strength? 

Perhaps you could be one of Shakespeare’s heroines - an Ophelia or
Juliet.  The intelligence of Portia, the forgotten beauty of Perdita.  
Or perhaps a young Lolita, an unlikely Alice falling through the 
looking glass.  The world is full of literary women: the Jane Eyres and 
Little Women, and Anne of Green Gables.  And you want to be one of 
them? 

Being yourself is the hardest task of all.  You can play the frightened
woman in the Salem witch trials; you can play the angel in the 
Christmas pageant; you can play the dutiful granddaughter.  You can 
play Snow White, as you look in the mirror and marvel at your pallor.  
Your eyes light up at the mention of Snow White and the succession of 
Disney heroines fills your mind, from Cinderella and Alice to 
Pocahontas and Mulan.  How about Nala or Sarabe?  Mary Poppins or 
Eglantine Price.  Silly.  Listen to me. 



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