Have you ever killed yourself? You wake up one day and decide that is it, its over. On your way to work you stop at the same chain coffee place, get the same chain coffee you’re not even that crazy about, and head to the same job you’ve had for what feels like years. Leave, head home, do what ever you do, wash rinse repeat. No buzz, no spark, no zest, plain like potato chips. See, chips aren’t that bad right? But they just aren’t that great either. Day after day in and out.. and SNAP. You decide its time. Theoretically, because if I meant some dramatic act like jumping off the George you wouldn’t be reading this. or would you? HMPH. Metaphorically speaking have you ever laid rest to things you didn’t like about yourself, let go of a weight you’ve held, quit a job you really couldn’t fucking stand, got out of a relationship that wasn’t working, killed the person you are, were, weren’t really?
This year I killed myself, twice. Somewhere in October of last year I stopped writing. Since I had nothing to vent, my truest emotions spared by no other human’s reason. I noticed I didn’t quite feel anything ; I had no build up. Nothing was worth recording. Come January, 2016! The start of this year began for me as any 20 something would have wanted it to. A nice years end raise at work, with a bonus. I had a boyfriend who was stable and didn’t give me hell as I know so many that do. My family was functioning as well as I could have hoped for it to, quite important to me. Friends all around and things moving along. Ya know, just going through the motions. Living. Being. Breathing. January came and went in a flash. In February I had taken a trip to California with a long time girl-friend of mine. The trip was exactly what I needed to feel myself again for a little. While I was there the opportunity to move presented itself. The perfect one at that. I will spare the details for the sake of all who are involved’s privacy but I would have been in west Hollywood, with 3 other rad ass girls, and living a dream. Dreams though are just that if not acted upon, someone wise once said. Reality settles in and quickly as it came dries up the fog of mystery. How could I leave my good but not completely fulfilling job? How could I turn my back on my family and boyfriend, friends, my life.. all for this out-of-no-where dream. I mean anyone who knows me knows how spontaneous I am but shit, this might be pushing it. I killed the potential me, who I wanted to be, who I could have been. I came back home and continued to be normal, that me. Living. Being. Breathing. February, March, April, FUCK.. May?? May?
Its a Saturday night. I’m home, bored. Watching my boyfriends dog because he can’t. I’m bored. I turn on the tv, flick flick flick, no. I open my laptop, no. My closet is organized, though I could redo my sock draw for the sake of redoing it..no. Smoke some pot. Still bored. Try to write Nor, try man. *Pulls out journal* no. no. no. no. none. of. it. is. working. This is when it starts. These little who and what have I become moments. See, the thought process of sanctioning your own suicide is not comparable to a flu or the cold. It wont bum rush you and go on its merry way. Its more of a slow steady savoring every last bit of your soul ailment. Its sitting at home watching your boyfriends dog thinking “why the fuck did I sign up for this?”. Its being at your desk for three hours with nothing to do because you’ve finished all your work. Its going home every single night because you haven’t kept in contact with your friends enough to make steady plans. Its being so consumed by everything and everyone around you that you lose touch of yourself. Its realizing you’ve formed patterns and habits you cant stand, its realizing you are a different person now.
In June I killed myself for the second time. I’d come to the conclusion that who I was was not working for me any longer. Who I was had to die, be reborn a new. Living such a mundane normal existence isn’t cut for me. My cloth has patterns and florescent colors, this was black and white stripes. Life has these ways of transforming us. Physically we cry, crawl, course our way through infancy, adolescence, and adulthood with no recollection of how quickly it came to pass. Emotionally we evolve, some more than others, others differently than most nevertheless we cease to soak it in. Lost in translation goes the spinning of caterpillar cocoons. You wake up a butterfly before you can see the sun cracking through. You use the wings you’ve grown and try to glide through this thing called life. Until the butterfly forgets how to use its wings the way they got there doesn’t tremble its flutter. We all pick and chose who we become through natural process. What we surround our self with is all of our own choosing, and its okay to say you made the wrong choice.
In July I left it all behind. I told my job that I’d be leaving for a month, wait for me if you’d like but if you can’t I get it. I told my boyfriend at the time the same thing. My family would always be there, and as family should they knew something was off with me the past couple of months. Everyone tipped their hat as I departed to Europe. I landed in my favorite place while promising myself this trip would be about ME. No giving in to other people’s requests. No hindering my joy for the fear of disappointing others. Strictly to give birth to a new being, a new me. For four weeks I partied, pranced and plundered my way through the Balkans like I had done every year of my youth. This summer there hadn’t been a sunset my eyes didn’t watch, or a glass that my mouth hadn’t kissed. I did what ever MY heart desired. Sit on the beach in the coast of Montenegro for hours? Sure. Watch the stars on your terrace with friends in the Kosovo country side? Go to a rave until 12 the next day? Why the fuck not! Instead of Being, just Breathing I decided the new me would be LIVING and LEARNING. Actively. I wouldn’t worry about anything other than what new patters I wanted to form, new things I wanted to do, things that I loved liked and valued. Old me suffocated herself. Hung from the guilt branch on the Tree called Life. Old me worried about everything but her.
In performing a suicide you might also hurt others. Its not an easy process for anyone, really. The new me returned home hyper and hungry for change. For me old relationships had to be reappraised. New value was placed on other people in correlation to the value they placed on me, the true value they placed on me. No more going out of my way for people who don’t appreciate it. No effort given to those who don’t offer theirs. My job had to accommodate, thankfully giving me more responsibilities than before. No more sitting at my desk bored. No more going home feeling unaccomplished. I formed stronger bonds with the people who I wanted around. No more surrounding myself with those who don’t bring me joy. No more wasting time at twiddling my thumbs of boredom. New me likes to go out on the weekdays. New me enjoys waking up early on the weekends and having coffee plus some smokes by herself. If I want to nap instead of go out I do. If I want to get lost on random highways in Jersey because I’ve never explored the state next door to mine, I do. I find myself three days before a New Year. I have never held any symbolism for new years as many do, but the new me does. I do new things, I meet new people. New me walks talks and does what she wants. New me is fulfilling, and she doesn’t feel guilty for it. Most importantly, new me is Alive.