The Suicide Man
By Christopher
Michael Carter
He cried tonight, like he has every night
this week. A week of crying himself to
sleep; the first time in a long time as his disease has just about
neurologically stripped his ability to do so like an average person of thought
& emotion. He's quietly fought
depression for years but even then he's always been less than honest about
having suicidal thoughts. They've
changed and the manor they've done so has been beginning to frighten him. It's no longer simply a matter of wishing he
were dead, but actual methodical blueprints of his end. He lies in bed planning it down to the letter
as one would a grand heist, meanwhile his wife sleeps beside him without a clue
that anything's awry.
He believes "it", the push to
end his life, used to scare him but these days it all feels different. When it hits, he feels like crying, but it's
actually comforting. He'll wait for her
to fall asleep and then looks at his medicine cabinet loaded with the dailies
and thinks about taking everything he
can and just quietly go to sleep as if it were a normal night. He's not sure if he's fighting the urge or
working up the courage to actually do it. The thought that it can all be over whenever
he wants is kind of reassuring, freeing. He thinks about how he wouldn't have to be
bitched at about the most inane things. He thinks about how he wouldn't have to feel
so worthless, powerless, alone, and in the way. He thinks about no longer being sad. No longer being angry. No longer feeling unworthy. He thinks about no longer having to live or
deal with his illness. He pictures his
wife happier without him as well as his child no longer having to put up with a
piss poor father figure such as himself. Perhaps his wife and child wouldn't be so
irritated or complain as much if he weren't around. He's anxious to feel relaxed and not
overstretched in any way. Yes, all he'd
have to do is take too much of something that's already long in his system.
Every night like clockwork he thinks about
the freedom it would bring him. His eyes
water, his smile stretches, and the lump in his throat swells. In the midst of the euphoria that the visions
of suicide brings him, another image is sharp: his dog, the little black pup. If this man thrives on the feeling of dying
then one could easily say this pup thrives on being lively. His youthful bounce and boundless energy are
only matched by the way he stares up at him with those big doe eyes. This man loves his dog and, more than any
other living being in his life, he wonders if that love is understood or even
reciprocated. Alas, he is constantly
reminded by others that he's just an
animal, a beast beneath him. 'If he's so
beneath me,' the man ponders, 'Why is it that I'm the one wondering if he sees
me as I see him?'
The man plans to end his suffering with
precision planning but the wind has vacated his deathly sails by the innocent
eyes of the little black pup. He thinks
of his wife, 'She'll be fine. I don't
think she'd even notice my being gone.' He
thinks the same of his daughter currently away at college, 'Eh, they'll get
over it quicker than they'd portray.' But
the dog; this Hound of Joy if you
will... 'This damn dog keeps ruining the
death of a lifetime.' This man wants to
be free. Doesn't want to be a failure. The mere thought of the dog, this man's best
friend, breaks up his beautiful suicidal cloud. He knows how the pup is when he's not around
and can't bear the thought of what he might endure if he were to actually go
through with it.
Still he lies in bed, not counting sheep,
but the options to which he can leave this world and find peace. No, he's not scared or sad anymore; the tears
are those of joy. The thought, nay, the knowing that he could exit his misery at
any given time empowers him, the Suicide Man. He's
stronger with that knowledge; the fear of death and the furthering of his
illness subsides. He doesn’t have to live in this world and do the
things he does while in it but he chooses
to. Yes, this man has found
enlightenment in suicide. Strong, happy
with tears in his eyes, he can't sleep. He's
going to wake up his dog for a late night walk.
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