I get some interesting comments concerning my writings. Comments that often make me reflect. Comments that convince me to continue to keep telling stories.
I write about the reality that life is not always perfect.
I write that not all win their battles and overcome their demons.
I write for the damaged and broken.
Is Suicide Painless was the most difficult writing endeavor upon which I have embarked. In preparation, I read volumes of others’ works. I talked to those who had been left behind. I spoke to people who had not only contemplated, but actually attempted, taking their own life. While written specifically for those left behind, it is written in first person narrative, from the perspective of the individual contemplating suicide.
That point of view made writing at times gut wrenching.
I had to become the main character. Each time my fingers danced along the keyboard, I was that character. I was he whose life was spiraling. I was he who was battling with a decision. I was that person.
There were times when tears became sobs.
The was a time when sobs became wails.
The emotional gamut meant I needed to take breaks, sometimes for weeks, in between writing. In a story that is just over ten thousand words, those breaks were significant. When I finished writing, I came out of the character. It was time to write the next story and leave him on the pages.
However, a recent comment by someone who has their own blog had me revisit my character. I got to thinking, if given the opportunity, what would I tell him to change his mind?
What reason, or reasons, would I give him to live.
I know I wouldn’t give him standard comments about those left behind. I wouldn’t lie and promise him all would get better, because I don’t know if it would. Most definitely, I wouldn’t give him some bullshit sugary, syrup laden vision of the world.
I would simply tell him not to take his own life because each individual is unique. I would tell him, “There is only one of you. Our life is finite, and we should enjoy, as best we can, each day we are given. I get that for many it is not easy, it is difficult, it may in fact be a fucking hell. Yet, once life is over, it is over. There is no coming back. There are no do overs. There will be no ‘if only.’
Once the fire of life is extinguished, an irreplaceable uniqueness is gone. And the one you, will be nothing more than a memory. And all that could have been done will be left unknown and un-experienced.”
“Who am I?”
I am an independent, self-published teller of tales. I am an author of scarcely any renown. However, as a storyteller, I know who I am, and with that persona, I am both confident a