THE DREAMS IN WHICH I'M DYING

...I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I ever had… (A beautiful line from the song « Mad World »)

I am in my car and hear the lyrics. Hot tears start streaming down my face and I am not able to stop them. My chest feels tight, as if there is a massive block of concrete holding down my breath which is causing me to panick. I cry harder, louder, sobbing, gasping for air, feeling desperately lonely. I have to stop it, my eyes are swollen and red and I will be at the office soon. I need to concentrate on the traffic, an accident is the last I could use. I open my window which cools me down and gives me the feeling I can breath again. I pull over and sob some more. I want to cry out all my tears,... I want arms around me..., I want a cigarette..., I want to turn back the clock 11 years...

I get to work and realise I forgot to drop off my daughter’s medicines at the childminder. So I run in, hiding my face as much as possible, apologise and run back out. All the way back… Yes, they say live goes on, and indeed it does. Not even time for a little mourning. In the car I cry again. I can’t stop it and I don’t want to stop it.

Not enough sleep, stress from work, divorcing with added stress over courtcase for permission to move abroad, christmas without money, the feeling of loneliness when it comes to the care of my little girl, tired conversations that easily lead to aggravation and misunderstanding with my Master, unfulfilled desires, my struggle over my weight, … I need a release, and tears seem to be the way.

Back at work I get a hug from my sweet Italian colleague. She doesn’t know why, but she sees something is wrong. And a hug is always nice. I get to work and besides the cold in my head I start feeling better. Now and then I need to dry my face again, cause tears keep rolling unvoluntarily. But by midday they seem to be dried up.

It’s not something I want to talk about. Simply because it is almost impossible. But maybe writing helps. Although I don’t know what I mean by « helps ». What do I want ? Learn to let go ? Learn to accept ? Learn to get over it ? No, not any of those. But I do want to feel less intensely sad, be able to perhaps talk about it without feeling like being scraped out on the inside.

There are a few things I will write down today. Not because « it helps », but to air my opinion. Killing yourself is NOT a selfish act, but a desperate deed. They should not be shamed and blamed, but respected for their courage. They do not leave loved ones behind, but loved ones have not seen them.

Yes, it leaves an enormous amount of guilt, but only righteously. I find my own stupidity unforgivable, and therefore I cannot and want not let go, accept, get over it…. I should have known, should have heard, should have felt, should have been there.

So please, by a miracle, turn the clock back 11 years tonight. Just in time...