death

All posts tagged death

Published December 7, 2017 by Chloe Madison

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop being upset. I have no control over it. I feel like I have one foot in the grave. I AM SO ALONE. I don’t see that ever changing. I don’t see healing coming. I can barely make it through one stupid day. I can’t sleep, can’t do anything. I can barely get up and move. I’m not doing laundry or dishes or anything. I can barely make it through an hour without breaking into tears. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME??

My heart burns with pain. It’s sunken into my stomach. My chest feels hollow and empty…and it physically hurts. I don’t know how much longer I can hang in. The fact is I don’t want to hang in. I can’t fake anything anymore. I just don’t have it in me.

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Published November 28, 2017 by Chloe Madison

Overall, today was a good day. It was good to get back to work and see everyone. People told me they missed me over Thanksgiving break and that was a nice surprise to hear. Plus, I REALLY don’t do well when I have too much free time to let my brain wander and stew on my issues. So it’s good to get back to work and feel productive.

I woke up last night at 2am with a migraine. Stupid hospital bills stressing me out. I got another one today- another $6,000 something for the 5 days. I’m suspicious though that there might be more- how can 8 hours in the ER cost three times more than 5 days and nights in a hospital? Is that normal? Anyway, I’m worried there might be some more charges coming. I got additional charges for the ER doctor…and there weren’t any charges yet for the hospital doctors for the 5 days…(YIKES!!!) I’m worried that will be coming soon… 😨

I just keep repeating to myself, “don’t freak out!”

“Don’t freak out!”

“Don’t freak out!”

Gah….πŸ˜“ I cannot handle this. I cannot handle any more strain on my life. I kept saying to myself over and over again today, “my life is not worth $16,000!!!”

And it’s not. It’s so true. 😦

Alright…what I’m thankful for: I’m thankful for having a good, albeit headache-filled day at work. I’m thankful for better dreams these last few days- I literally dreamed of puppies and ice cream and donuts! πŸ˜‚ I kid you not! The puppies were drowning…but in my dream, we saved them all and got them all adopted. So it all worked out well. No nightmares last night either… but I was awake at 2am and couldn’t go back to sleep (even with sleeping pills). Hopefully, that won’t happen tonight.

I’m also thankful for something else. I thought a lot about my uncle yesterday and I meant to write that I was thankful for this yesterday, but I got side tracked when I got the hospital bills. I was thinking how he told people that my dad sexually abused him and no one believed him. Knowing that my grandma knew about my abuse and conspired to cover it up…I believe that she believed my uncle, but maybe acted like she didn’t in order to keep it all quiet and protect my dad. But, everyone else that he told… no one believed him. That makes me so sad. I was thinking about that and I realized that I haven’t had that issue. Yes, my mom and grandma knew all along and did nothing to help me or protect me…but I never told them. I never told anyone until I was 18 years old. That’s the first time I had the courage to say a word. I never had the experience of someone not believing me. And that’s what I’m thankful for. I can’t imagine how much more damaging this could be if I was told I wasn’t believed. It made me see that my uncle had more damage done by not having support when he sought it out. That’s so messed up. I’m so grateful that the very few people I’ve shared with have had my back….(minus my two friends who jumped ship recently).

When I think about suicide, I find myself rationalizing that I share the same fate as my uncle. I told myself that over and over. He didn’t survive what my dad did, why would I? He committed suicide, it must be my fate as well. Am I stronger than he is? No way! So why do I think I’d survive when he didn’t? He lived for decades and decades and STILL wound up succumbing to his psychological injuries. My dad will ultimately be responsible for two deaths…and for wrecking who knows how many lives!

…This is what I told myself and this is how I thought. And yesterday when I was thinking about no one believing my uncle, I thought that he must have had it harder. It’s must have been so much more difficult for him because people didn’t believe him. He saw my dad all the time and knew my dad got away with disgusting, evil acts. And HIS OWNMOTHER covered it up. I mean…mine did too. But still…

My fear of not being believed only manifested in one instance and that was with Joe. He had always physically, intellectually, and psychologically intimidated me. Before the rape occurred, he had already been physically violent with both myself and my little dog. So I had already been staying away from him. We were no longer friends because he broke the septum in my nose when he slammed my head against a wall. I had been tapping on something and it had annoyed him. That was the last time I ever talked to him. I was scared and stayed away after that. And months later, the rape occurred. And now…he’s an attorney. Geez…I feel even more intimidated by his occupation. There’s no way I could accuse him without massive fear and anxiety regarding retaliation on his part. I’m almost certain of it. So I see how a fear of not being believed can affect you. I can’t imagine how much that affected my uncle when he tried to confide in people.

I’m trying really, really hard. Things aren’t going well. I’m more deeply depressed than before…but I don’t know if that’s because of the meds or my nice little stay in the hospital that’s giving me a complex. I feel so ashamed of it. My one friend who visited me (and who drove two hours to do so) told me the other day that the hospitalization “doesn’t define you.” I really needed to hear that. I don’t know how she read my thoughts…I’ve been so down on myself for getting hospitalized and feeling like if people find out, they’ll think I’m a looney. It makes me so much more scared to share with anyone. I don’t blame people- I think they’d subconsciously judge me or hold it against me. Anyway, I need to internalize that idea- that this hospitalization doesn’t define me. God does, right?

That’s all I need- another identity crisis.

Published November 26, 2017 by Chloe Madison

Stop for a minute and think. Imagine your life with no one. Imagine not having your spouse, your children. There are no family members living close by. No brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, or uncles anywhere close. Seriously…stop and try to imagine this for your life. Years and years and years pass by…and you’re all alone. Every day. Every night. Every weekend. Can you even imagine this for your life?

This is mine. And it’s ok except for the fact that I’ve recently lost a few friendships. But this is why those friendships are so vital to my life. IT’S ALL I HAVE. Yes, you can say I have a relationship with God. But for living, breathing human beings…friendships are all I have. And I surely don’t have that many of them. I’m super shy so making new friends is near impossible and I have such a difficult time trusting people. I was just ruminating with a friend over how every single one of my relationships (boyfriends) was someone who was very outgoing. And when I was young I realized those were the only guys bold enough to strike up a conversation with someone as shy as myself.

Anyway, the point is that I’ve been racking my brain over what I can do to salvage my friendships and not sabotage them anymore. I need them. And those people all deserve better too. It’s not just for me. I want to be a better person and a better friend. That’s what made me start researching how PTSD affects relationships. It’s something I’ll be working on and I can only pray that my friends will be gracious and patient with me as I flounder my way through this. I’ve been so distressed over this one issue lately. I’ll probably continue to write about this because I’ve been tormented over the loss of these friends and I very much fear losing any more. I’m terrified of it actually. They’re all I have in this world.

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The last picture I put up on my Facebook is so disturbing to me. My sister-in-law took a picture of me holding my nephew, but it was right after I had two intense breakdowns. I’d cried for hours at this point. I was so out of it. My eyes are vacant and hollow. My nose is red from crying. My face is so downtrodden with sadness. I actually hate myself in that picture, but the baby is so precious that I decided to put it up. People commented on how that’s a moment to cherish…smh. No one knows. No one understands. I feel so disconnected.

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Nightmares have increased exponentially since I got out. They’re just about every other night now. And what used to be rare (continuing a dream after waking up from it and going back to sleep) is now commonplace. Gah…why does it have to be the nightmares that continue? I’m pretty good at analyzing my dreams and figuring out what my brain was trying to process. Lately, many of the nightmares have been from being locked up against my will. I was terrified and still am terrified that it can happen again at any moment.

There have been some weird nightmares though that I can’t quite figure out what they’re from. One is of me getting shot. I can’t remember the whole dream- only a sliver of it. I’m in a crowd of people and someone open fires into the crowd. A man is shot next to me and he falls on top of me, burying my face. He’s dead and is laying face up on top of my upper chest and face. I almost feel suffocated because I can’t breathe. But then I realize the shooter is still shooting so I freeze instead of trying to free myself. The shooter goes quiet. He’s taken the entire crowd down. He decides to open fire one last time on everyone laying on the floor- just to make sure everyone’s dead. This is when I get shot in the stomach. I feel the burn and sting of the bullet and my body contracts a little as the bullet enters. I wake up a moment after that. I’d go back to sleep and dream it again. I have no idea where this particular nightmare is coming from or what my brain might be trying to process. But like all my nightmares, I wake up with my heart beating out of my chest, drenched in sweat, and I can’t catch my breath.

Then there’s the creepy cult nightmare. There’s a cult that’s taken over this little town I live in and they dictate everything…right down to the food you eat. For some reason, I was suspicious about their food and didn’t want to eat it. So I didn’t. I knew the penalty was death. They would try to coerce you into eating and if you refused, they’d chase you down and kill you. So after various groups of people tried to coerce me to eat their food, it was decided that I wasn’t compliant and I’d have to be killed. I’d run and try to hide…but literally every person in the town is after me. No one is safe. I’d spend a good part of the dream running and hiding…I’d wake up just as someone is about to tackle me. Then I’d fall asleep again and re-dream the not eating part and the getting chased down part over and over.

This dream I can link to several things though. First and most depressing…is my church. I kind of equate the cult to my church and how I don’t feel wanted there or welcome there anymore. I’m afraid that’s why in the dream I’m not wanted…instead, they want to kill me. The other part is from getting locked up. I was so physically ill from being re-traumatized in there that I couldn’t eat, I fought back puking constantly, and had diarrhea nonstop. But I knew they were watching and noting every time someone didn’t eat. I was so terrified they’d hold it against me, that I put something in my mouth whenever they looked (this is also why I tried to hold in my vomit). When they weren’t looking, I gave the rest of the food away. I wasn’t trying to break rules on purpose…I was just so damned sick to my stomach. It was unreal. Anyway, I think that’s where the food part comes from…and the rules about “you must eat our food”…this is just like in the hospital. Then there’s the “no one is safe” part. Huh. I think that’s part of my PTSD and then some. I’ve never felt that any one human being on this earth is entirely safe. Never. I remember several months back trying to get myself to trust people again and picking out the most benign, harmless, most Christ-like individuals- and then questioning myself on if I fully trusted them or not. And if not, why? Never…I was never able to convince myself that any person was safe. There’s always a danger. There’s always the potential for harm. That’s just life. And now it seems even more dangerous to me- I’ve been stung by the people closest to me. No one is safe. Not a soul.

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Tonight I was driving back from somewhere. It took a few hours. I thought over and over again of different ways I could die. And then I started thinking, why is that considered bad? Why is that considered a failure? I’m not convinced that God wants me here on this earth. He surely doesn’t need me. I’m no good to anyone. But why is dying considered so bad?? Why does some person get to say that it’s not ok? Isn’t that between God and I? And like I said, I’m not so sure he wants me here. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t actually. He wouldn’t have made my life like this.

Everything has been so much worse since I got out. I can sit here and say how I want to be a better person…and I do…but things are not good. Everything is so much worse. I am doing so much worse. I feel so much more alone than I did before. I don’t see how this will get any better. But for now, I’m here. I’m open to help. I want to get better. I just don’t see it ever happening.

Published November 21, 2017 by Chloe Madison

Spent the last few days doing a lot, a lot of thinking. Yes, being self-absorbed still…but I have to figure out what’s going on with me so I can stop being a jerk. I don’t know why I’m lashing out, being so impatient, so demanding, so immature…why I have so much anger boiling over.

I finally googled how PTSD affects friendships and relationships. Oph. There it was. “PTSD can cause problems with trust, closeness, communication, and problem solving.” I read on and on. A lot of stuff pertained to me, a lot of stuff didn’t. Either way, I don’t want to use PTSD as an excuse to be a jerk to anyone. That’s not fair. But it did help me understand why I can’t trust even the most benign people in my life. In my head, logically, I know these people are safe…but emotionally and psychologically, I can’t bring myself to trust them. And now it’s even worse. And my anger…God knows…I feel like I have anger from everything- my past, my present, my parents, my former friends…just everything and everyone. But I’m trying to learn here…I’m trying to become a better person…so I refuse to sit back and blame anyone. What’s done is done…my anger will fade. I just have to be mature about it and make sure I don’t hurt myself or anyone else in the mean time. I feel like God will heal me. I know He can….I just wonder sometimes. I wonder if it’s meant to be or not.

And I always wonder whether I’m meant to be. I surely don’t think so. I’m trying my best to shove those thoughts out of my head though.

I’ve thought a lot about Kyle. I found out his mom had called the police, saying he was in fact about to commit suicide, he was on drugs, and he was schizophrenic. I went back and reread some of his Facebook posts. I can’t make heads or tails out of them.

I thought of the person I knew so many years ago. He was kind and generous and had an affinity for the poor and for animals. My kind of person. His friends and I have decided we will remember him the way we knew him, as a kind, gentle soul.

I feel terrible for his family, for his mom…and it’s given me a renewed view of suicide from the other side. It’s been a long time since someone I know committed suicide. I had one really good friend and my uncle commit suicide. I thought of Agron and of my uncle. And I thought of all the death lately. I feel like I’ve been surrounded by it, drowning in it. The man who committed suicide in my building, Jason who died on the trail, my aunt and my cousin who died earlier this year from cancer. I still see Jason’s face all the time- both alive and dead. And I’ve been watching that empty apartment where my neighbor committed suicide. They kept it empty for quite a while and now it’s newly rented. I would stand outside while walking my dog and think of the guy, dying in there alone, with fentanyl patches all over. I feel for him. I understand. And yet I know I really can’t say I do.

I’m still so mad at God too. This has been a topic of conversation in my therapy sessions. Why would God allow child abuse? Why would he allow little children to be sexually abused? Why would he allow parents and grandparents to cover up abuse and protect the abuser? Why would he allow us…his people…to hurt so deeply? And for so long? Does he really love us? Really?? It’s difficult for me to reconcile a loving, fatherly God with one who allows such things. Why did God think I could handle a death on the trail? Why did he think I could handle staying with the body for half a day? Why did he think I could handle getting locked up? Why did he think that could help more than hurt?? Why did he make friends give up on me and jump ship? Why is he making me hurt so deeply?

I don’t know any of the answers to these questions. In my head…intellectually, I know God loves me. At least, I think I do. But in my heart, emotionally, it’s nearly impossible for me to believe.

I’m not tying to be a jerk and hold things against God… but I’ve got to wrestle with him over the state of things and his love. Because it doesn’t add up.

Wow…I thought I barely had anything to say for this post.

I wanted to write what I’m thankful for. Every day, all throughout the day, I’m trying to find things to be genuinely thankful for. A lot of what I’m finding now has to do with what I couldn’t experience when I was locked up.

So last night I spent a lot of time gazing up at the stars. I was looking at Saturn and Mercury and dreaming of how Mars still beckons me. God, I would love to go there. The night sky was so beautiful. I told God how his creativity never ceases to amaze me and how thankful I was for his incredible universe.

I’ve been enjoying the last little bit of fall leaves here. There are a few orange ones here that put me in awe. I went walking in the woods today and absorbed every sensation- the chilly air nipping at my nose and ears, the crunching of the leaves beneath my feet, the silence of the forest, and the deer scattering as I approached.

And yet my heart returns and hurts for Kyle. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for him. I’m sorry that I didn’t say something more or do something or reach out in some way. I had no idea he was even remotely contemplating suicide. I really should have known. I’ll carry this too.

Published November 19, 2017 by Chloe Madison

So much has happened. First of all, I’m the shittiest person on Earth. I’ve been wrapped up in myself, in my mind and have been being an ass to people who don’t deserve it. I am so sorry for that. I feel like all I’m ever doing lately is apologizing. I just keep messing up and messing up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t want to be a shitty person to anyone, let alone to good, generous, loving people.

I made an executive decision to fly to my mom’s for Thanksgiving. I have a week off from work and no one to have Thanksgiving dinner with. I thought long and hard (there I go again- being self-absorbed) about my current state. I realized even if I found someone to spend Thanksgiving Day with, that I’d still be alone with my not-so-great thoughts for over a week. I could not see the end. I couldn’t see me living through the entire week. It just wouldn’t happen. At least, I couldn’t envision it happening. Plus, when I was locked up, one of my best friends and I sorta planned me flying to my mom’s for Thanksgiving. I didn’t really take it as something that would really happen because I didn’t have money for it. But like I said, I wouldn’t live through 9 days alone. I know myself. So I decided to put a plane ticket on the last little free space on my credit card and go.

I surprised my mom. She hugged me and then immediately grabbed my waist. I was wearing a huge oversized hoodie (I’ve been wanting to hide from the world lately, hiding under oversized clothes). She commented on how thin I was. I had just talked to her earlier that day on the phone and she had immediately insisted that something was wrong- that I didn’t sound like myself. I didn’t tell her anything on the phone and I wasn’t sure if I would when I saw her in person.

She kept at me though- insisting I didn’t look right, that I was acting different than usual, and that something was definitely wrong. So I told her. I shared with her how I had not been doing well, had blogged incessantly about suicide ideation, and how I’d gotten myself locked up for a week. She took it surprisingly well. She only made three jabs at me. She said people who cut do it for attention or they’re just crying out for help (jab #1). I explained to her about the fight or flight trigger and the adrenaline the way the psychiatrist explained it to me. She didn’t agree.

She didn’t seem to care about my two friends jumping ship on me. She said “they’ve had enough of you.” (Jab #2) I was surprised and replied that I didn’t think that was possible considering I’ve only seen/ communicated with them twice and her another two times since January. How could they “have had enough” of me? Either way, it made me feel like complete shit. I’ve got to make sure I don’t do that to my other friends. I am truly so, so lucky to have a few people stick by me through all this mess. πŸ˜” I don’t want everyone else to decide they’ve had enough of me too.

I told her about starting Zoloft and how that had been affecting me.

I told her how I’d been so much more depressed since I got out and that I wasn’t sure why.

I told her how I lied like crazy to try to get out of there…but obviously, I’m a terrible liar since they didn’t believe me and kept me locked up for 5 days.

The only thing is that she didn’t take my wishes to die seriously…and I didn’t have the courage to restate what I’d already said. She said, “well, the only time I thought you’d really do something was when you and Danny broke up.” (He was my fiancΓ© when I was 18 years old. We broke up when I was 21.) I told her I remember being devastated, but no where near the point of suicide…especially over a break up. What I’m dealing with is so much MORE than that!

She knows what I’m dealing with. She said I’d just have to get over it. (I took this lovely, compassionate comment as jab #3.)

Anyway, I’m preparing for more jabs from her in the coming days. I’ll just have to deal with it.

And then I find out about Kyle. He was my friend way back in the day in my early 20s when I spent most of my time on the streets, smoking cigarettes and playing guitar. I had seen the story of the guy who jumped off the roof of Trump Tower. I looked at the picture of the covered body and pictured myself in there. I thought how that guy had more courage…I’d never be fearless enough to jump. Only today did I find out it was Kyle. He was schizophrenic and in the last few years, I had the hardest time deciphering his nonsensical Facebook posts. I figured it was all the drugs and mushrooms he did. He wrote a lot of poetry, but none of it was about death or dying or suicide. So I’m not sure if it was planned or was a spur of the moment decision or if he was on something when he did it or if his mental illness is the root cause?

Either way, I wonder why it wasn’t me. Why did God let him die?

Published November 18, 2017 by Chloe Madison

My heart is so, so hopelessly sad.

My chest literally hurts.

I told my therapist about just how often I think of not being here. From here on out, I’m going to be fully honest and I’m not going to downplay my thoughts or feelings with her. And hopefully, in exchange, I’ll never be locked up again. I can always go stay with someone or someone can stay with me. That’s my hope anyway. I can’t guarantee that.

I’m not so sure I have people to do that. Every single person who told me they’d be by my side has left. I’m gifted at making people leave. It’s not what I want- obviously. But I feel so… ugh. I give up.

The other night I had my first nightmare about being locked up. It was weird because in my dream, the place was better than in reality. In my dream there were tiny jacuzzis that fit only two people at a time. And this is where you met with your doctor. Smh…I know…weird. But in my dream, I was terrified. Just like in reality. I woke up drenched in sweat and with my heart beating out of my chest. It sucked. In my dream, I acted the way I did in real life. I was so scared and cautious of everyone…I even moved slower because I was so unsure of everything happening.

I am here alone.

Again.

Still.

It doesn’t matter what I do.

It doesn’t matter what I say to who.

(I had to edit this part out…it wasn’t fair or right for me to say.)

Period. End of story.

And what can you do?

This is why my heart hurts so badly. I can’t tell myself I’m worth living, I can’t try to convince myself that I can matter in this life if everything consistently points to the contrary.

(Edited out)

EMDR

Published August 18, 2017 by Chloe Madison

I feel so weird. Extraordinarily detached. I’m not feeling a thing. My thoughts seem to float. Detached. No connection. The perfect time Too easy.

Shame is what we focused on- being ashamed of who my father is…that I’m so closely related to a sexual predator, a criminal.

I saw myself walking on the sidewalk next to the building where I work. This massive black tar-like substance began slowing oozing down from the entire building. It was one giant encompassing entity. I think it was shame. It suddenly changed from slow moving to a quickly engulfing tidal wave that swept me up into a whirlpool. A deep black whirlpool. I was caught up in the enormous swirling blackness. Then I noticed the sky turning white. It was a stark contrast to the blackness of the giant whirlpool. I thought maybe the white sky might be God. I saw a red rose floating around in a downward trajectory. I want to die so I laid back in the black whirlpool and floated on my back- giving up, wanting to drown or be swallowed up by this. 

The rose drifted down and landed on my chest. I was distracted by it- I kept looking at it laying on my chest, but also kept laying my head back and floating, in an effort to give up. I realized the rose was sticking to my chest- like the tentacles of an octopus. I tried prying an edge of it off- one rose petal- and as soon as I let go, it would reattach itself. 

I remembered that the red rose had made an appearance before, but I can’t remember what I thought it represented. This time I kept getting the phrase, “Word of God” over and over and I kept picturing my new Bible. So perhaps the rose that’s attached itself to my chest represents the Word of God. As I realize that, I think it begins to embed itself in me. 

I notice the black whirlpool begins to swirl with a milky white liquid, mixing with the blackness. The white seems to overtake the black and soon the whirlpool is white with only traces of blackness through it. 

The spinning of the whirlpool begins to slow. I hadn’t noticed before, but the level of it had lowered. The next thing I know, I’m laying on the wet ground- soggy grass wet with a milky white substance. The waters of the whirlpool had so gently dissipated that I barely noticed it. 

I don’t want to get up- I’m curious to see what’s around me, but I feel lazy, maybe just exhausted- I don’t want to even lift my head. I feel like God is telling me to get up and go. But I don’t want to. It becomes clear that it’s ok for me to stay there for a while and as I do, the grass becomes less and less soggy as the milky liquid is absorbed into the ground. 

I can’t remember correctly. 

I think I sit up and begin to look around and I see nothing in all directions around me. I see a weird scene as short, sharp grass seems to be in blue ground. The word “wasteland” comes to mind. There’s  nothing out there in any direction. It’s a barren wasteland. As I stand up, the landscape turns more and more bleak. There’s still nothing but everything continues to dry up- like the desert of Mad Max and the Thunderdome. I look down as I feel something heavy and awkward on my feet. I see sandals on my feet- but super old school ones like Jesus would wear. I feel something in my hand but I can’t see it clearly. It feels like a heavy Bible or something- but an old leather covered one. The ground has now turned into a dry orange sand.

I can’t determine which way to go- which way God wants me to go. No matter where I turn, every direction looks the same. I think God needs to show me which way to go. I also think this is a long arduous journey- one that will take a while and that I clearly don’t have much to survive with. I see a vertical sliver of light off in the distance and think that must be the way to go. I slowly begin to move toward it. Again, I look down at my feet, the old sandals, and feel this big book-like thing cupped in my hand. I feel underequipped for what’s ahead. 

As I move forward, two big masses of blackness come from either side up in the sky. They develop and swirl like clouds- but they reach from the top of the sky to the ground and even cover parts of the ground. They’re ominous and threatening. I can still see a path to follow in the sand though. I can still look above the blackness and see the little sliver of light to follow. So I continue. 

Then…giant evil faces emerge from the blackness. On both sides, I see deep red eyes and huge, deep red grimaces. They’re laughing at me and threatening me. I hear the word “black” over and over rhythmically and as I do, I picture my wrist, a gun, my wrist, laying back floating in the ocean, Chicago, my wrist, ….

I can now see nothing but blackness. It’s grown to cover every inch of the ground. The path is obscured. Images of suicide are everywhere…surrounding and engulfing me.