A Look Into A Suicidal Impulse. // What Did I Do?
It's interesting the way things progress in our lives;
How things always manage to progress but never in the same way.
Memories like poison run through me and I find myself lost in a wordless daze.
Quite sensations that used to bring me such pleasure are now terrifying revelations of what hides in the silence.
Sometimes I wonder if memories are a way to experience time in a different direction, not exactly a reversal of the forward direction that we experience it as.
It seems living through memories is all I've really been doing these past few months. I've not been able to do much, my health keeping me imprisoned in ways I never thought I'd be. I did manage to have a playdate the other weekend, so hurray for me. I've built up higher walls of solitude while on some level wanting a deeper connection. Then I wonder, 'Do I deserve this?' A reel of some of the worst things I've ever done in my life plays back; Normally I'd be amused at the things I've done but recently I've been looking at things through new lenses. I felt a curiousness of a new flavour flooding through me as I sat with my back pressed against the cold, stone walls of the bus terminal.
I've never doubted myself as wholly as I have been. I've found a new appreciation for things. A new appetite for life. It doesn't mean that I'm just going to abandon all my old ways and rituals. I am a creature of habit. I live by organised chaos. And I shall probably perish in the flames of it. On some level, I must have always known this was a possibility, I just ignored it and focused on the latest thrill, the freshest high, the newest bout of danger filled adventure. But now that I've met him, is the risk worth it? Am I really going to change the entire course of my life for a single person? And not even knowing if it will work? Or even if there is a possibility to make things work? This is a risk I've never been prepared for. Dying for someone is far easier than living for someone.
It's December 2012.
I'm living in Leipzig, Germany.
It's only three days after Christmas.
I'd gone to Kassel to see a few friends for the holiday before doing a mini book tour across the country.
Memories of Christmas hang in the air as I walk through the cold and overcast streets.
I love the beauty of the city; no matter the weather the city always manages to spark a sense of wonder, adventure and passion within me.
The past few days, I've felt listless, passionate and empty.
Time is almost at a standstill, the clouds above moving faster than the time.
It's almost dinner time and I don't feel like cooking.
I'm not hungry but I know that I have to eat something.
I want something cheap and fast.
I know I can get something at the central station, it's not that far away roughly 1,200 metres.
I see the central station in front of me, the lanes of traffic racing mere centimetres from the tips of my trainers; it's then when I realise the tightrope that I'm on.
The world turns a funny grey colour and everything begins to lose definition.
Something inside me tells me to walk.
It reads the signals of the lights, although I am not aware.
My legs carry me across three lanes and to the tram platform.
The sky darkens and begins to weep small tears of snow.
The chill of late December wraps itself around me and settles in my bones.
Out of habit, I shrug into the thick snake print scarf wrapped around my neck.
Something tells me to move.
I see the tram coming.
I hear the scraping of the metal, alerting me that the tram is drawing near to where I stand.
The dinging of the tram's bell alerts me to the danger it poses.
The smell of the air tells me that movement will result in death.
I need to move.
Something cries out deep within me and my cells follow suit.
Move, Daniel. You need to do this.
I step forward.
I can't see anything around me.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
I look up and see the tram to my right.
It's only 5 metres or so.
It's going to hit me.
I only hope I don't make too much of a mess.
I'm about to take another step to that I'm directly hit by the tonnes of steel that pace toward me when a hand reaches out and grabs my shoulder.
"Bist du in Ordnung?!!"
The voice is feminine and filled with alarm.
The face of a middle aged woman swims into focus.
I just stare at the grey woollen scarf around her neck and the silver streaks in her pale blond hair.
"Ich bin-" My voice trails off. I don't even know what I am.
"Brauchen Sie Hilfe? Kann ich Ihnen helfen?"
My voice becomes lodged in my throat and I can only shake my head in response.
"Werden Sie in Ordnung?"
It's now that I realise her accent; she's from southern Germany.
I feel the ghost of her hand on my shoulder.
"Ja, dankeschön. Danke, dass du mein Leben gerettet hast."
Hearing the words slip out of my mouth, I realise that I actually could have died there.
I'd been aware of my actions, aware of death, fully understanding the concept, yet it wasn't important until I was looking into the murky green of this woman's eyes.
This was the last time that I'd felt a surge of adrenaline before he touched me. When his frame collided with mine, white hot adrenaline shot through me, pulled my centre of gravity off kilter and I fell into him with longing arms. It surprised me. I'd never felt that sensation ever before for anything, let alone for a human being. His warmth radiated through me. And now as cool autumn nights are blooming before me, I think of the warmth and safety I felt in his arms. For that minute the world stood still and I could breathe without anxiety, hatred or fear. I've not ever had that experience since I was a small child and even then I'm not sure that it was even real. I felt a soul for the first time. I warm and living soul. This moment has been forever seared into my consciousness.
I'm amused, curious and fearful of what that embrace meant. Was it the start of something beautiful, wild and otherworldly? Or will it be the blue prints of my destruction? Why is it that the things that are supposed to bring a living creature happiness, joy and comfort are the things that cause me the most pain, hardship and destruction? Why does it always feel that the juice is not worth the squeeze? Is it ever really worth the squeeze? I may at a time would have believed that it was, but after so many experiences, I'm inclined to think otherwise.
We're drawn to the places that feel like home; the places, people and things that remind us of warmth and safety. Life is about creature comforts when you break it down the smallest measurements.
Sometimes I wonder if memories are a way to experience time in a different direction, not exactly a reversal of the forward direction that we experience it as.
It seems living through memories is all I've really been doing these past few months. I've not been able to do much, my health keeping me imprisoned in ways I never thought I'd be. I did manage to have a playdate the other weekend, so hurray for me. I've built up higher walls of solitude while on some level wanting a deeper connection. Then I wonder, 'Do I deserve this?' A reel of some of the worst things I've ever done in my life plays back; Normally I'd be amused at the things I've done but recently I've been looking at things through new lenses. I felt a curiousness of a new flavour flooding through me as I sat with my back pressed against the cold, stone walls of the bus terminal.
I've never doubted myself as wholly as I have been. I've found a new appreciation for things. A new appetite for life. It doesn't mean that I'm just going to abandon all my old ways and rituals. I am a creature of habit. I live by organised chaos. And I shall probably perish in the flames of it. On some level, I must have always known this was a possibility, I just ignored it and focused on the latest thrill, the freshest high, the newest bout of danger filled adventure. But now that I've met him, is the risk worth it? Am I really going to change the entire course of my life for a single person? And not even knowing if it will work? Or even if there is a possibility to make things work? This is a risk I've never been prepared for. Dying for someone is far easier than living for someone.
I'm living in Leipzig, Germany.
It's only three days after Christmas.
I'd gone to Kassel to see a few friends for the holiday before doing a mini book tour across the country.
Memories of Christmas hang in the air as I walk through the cold and overcast streets.
I love the beauty of the city; no matter the weather the city always manages to spark a sense of wonder, adventure and passion within me.
The past few days, I've felt listless, passionate and empty.
Time is almost at a standstill, the clouds above moving faster than the time.
It's almost dinner time and I don't feel like cooking.
I'm not hungry but I know that I have to eat something.
I want something cheap and fast.
I know I can get something at the central station, it's not that far away roughly 1,200 metres.
I see the central station in front of me, the lanes of traffic racing mere centimetres from the tips of my trainers; it's then when I realise the tightrope that I'm on.
The world turns a funny grey colour and everything begins to lose definition.
Something inside me tells me to walk.
It reads the signals of the lights, although I am not aware.
My legs carry me across three lanes and to the tram platform.
The sky darkens and begins to weep small tears of snow.
The chill of late December wraps itself around me and settles in my bones.
Out of habit, I shrug into the thick snake print scarf wrapped around my neck.
Something tells me to move.
I see the tram coming.
I hear the scraping of the metal, alerting me that the tram is drawing near to where I stand.
The dinging of the tram's bell alerts me to the danger it poses.
The smell of the air tells me that movement will result in death.
I need to move.
Something cries out deep within me and my cells follow suit.
Move, Daniel. You need to do this.
I step forward.
I can't see anything around me.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
I look up and see the tram to my right.
It's only 5 metres or so.
It's going to hit me.
I only hope I don't make too much of a mess.
I'm about to take another step to that I'm directly hit by the tonnes of steel that pace toward me when a hand reaches out and grabs my shoulder.
"Bist du in Ordnung?!!"
The voice is feminine and filled with alarm.
The face of a middle aged woman swims into focus.
I just stare at the grey woollen scarf around her neck and the silver streaks in her pale blond hair.
"Ich bin-" My voice trails off. I don't even know what I am.
"Brauchen Sie Hilfe? Kann ich Ihnen helfen?"
My voice becomes lodged in my throat and I can only shake my head in response.
"Werden Sie in Ordnung?"
It's now that I realise her accent; she's from southern Germany.
I feel the ghost of her hand on my shoulder.
"Ja, dankeschön. Danke, dass du mein Leben gerettet hast."
Hearing the words slip out of my mouth, I realise that I actually could have died there.
I'd been aware of my actions, aware of death, fully understanding the concept, yet it wasn't important until I was looking into the murky green of this woman's eyes.
Onlookers look unsure, but no one else moves forward to speak to either of us. The tram starts off again having spit out people and consumed those waiting on the platform for it. I watch as it pulls away, almost hypnotised. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the woman glance back at me from across the street before she disappears into a crowd of people overburdened by luggage. I felt the complexities of life, yet I was also bombarded by the simplicity of it all. I felt my mortality. I'd never acted on my suicidal urges or listened to the whispers of the suicidalness within me in public before. I almost outed myself. I almost admitted my secret to the world around me. Almost allowed them to put a feeling to a face. An illness to a face. A stigma to a face. I would have become another statistic and any trace of humanity that dwelled within me would have been stripped from me as the metal of the tram would have stripped the flesh from my bone.
The light signals that it's safe to walk and I cross the next three lanes and glide into the central station. Up the stairs to the departures level. Christmas lingers in the corners of the building and the warm lights of the decorations feel inviting, threatening the cold grey that lingers behind the stone of the building.
I'm amused, curious and fearful of what that embrace meant. Was it the start of something beautiful, wild and otherworldly? Or will it be the blue prints of my destruction? Why is it that the things that are supposed to bring a living creature happiness, joy and comfort are the things that cause me the most pain, hardship and destruction? Why does it always feel that the juice is not worth the squeeze? Is it ever really worth the squeeze? I may at a time would have believed that it was, but after so many experiences, I'm inclined to think otherwise.
We're drawn to the places that feel like home; the places, people and things that remind us of warmth and safety. Life is about creature comforts when you break it down the smallest measurements.
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