I closed my eyes and thought about that sweet blackness which has always eluded me. I think about that all those little adjustments that could have happened but didn't - I could have landed on my head instead of breaking my pelvis and back, I could have fallen off to sleep into that comfortable oblivion if someone had not found me, if I had stayed back, if I had judged it just right. I have timing issues obviously. I think about all that and my heart aches because I know I am the master of my own choices, I am indeed the captain of my own ship.
They say I am a fighter. She says I am courageous and strong. But I'm not. I'm nothing but a fraud.
There was a guy who died in a prison up north not so long ago. All he had was a blanket and a steel bed. Dead. They were already checking him every ten minutes. Dead in less than ten minutes. Everybody knows if someone truly wanted to die, they would. All they needed was a blanket and a steel bed.
She says I am a fighter, but I'm not. I'm nothing but a coward at heart. I'm just like everybody else. Afraid of that grand oblivion, that great nothingness.
And yet there is such a longing for it. Torn between a secret desire and being human. Inside my heart aches and aches.