April 18, 1994

"Amid the sufferings of life on earth, suicide is God's best gift to man."
                                                         Pliny the Elder

A few hours ago I arrived back in Dingle. It was a long drive from Donegal, over six hours - but it seemed much longer. During the entire trip I was in my own private hell of misery, sadness, depression, loneliness, despair and anxiety. I am exhausted, so much so that my mind's weary and my soul's fatigued. There is a sign in Dick Mack's Pub that reads, "Without stress my life would be empty." I should have tattooed on my forehead. The most strenuous thing I do all day is pick up a pint of Guinness. I am being strangled by suffocating stress, manufactured in my mind as I feel time closing in on me.

Sanity is supposedly soundness of mind. As sure as I know my name, I can state that I am as insane as a person can be. My mind is unsound and is an unseemly and unsafe place in which to dwell. And my almost continual contemplation of suicide is my saving sacrament. I debate not whether I should live or die, but whether I should use a gun or pill. Thoughts of shooting myself in church are always expanding and exploding in my brain. Do I do it when the church is empty or during Mass?

I know I belong in a mental hospital for my mind is as unsound as a cheap, out of tuned piano. But I'm afraid I'll end up at Bridgewater State Hospital, where I'll spend the rest of my life talking to myself and not understanding a word I'm saying. With no hope and nothing to live for, I have two options - suicide or nut house, casket or padded cell. And I know for a fact, the only sure solution for my suffering is suicide.

On my long drive today, the wind was not at my back nor did the road come up to meet me - my only hope left is that I'm in heaven an hour before the devil knows I'm dead.

6:00pm   -   Alpine Guest House   -   Dingle, County Kerry, Ireland

contact: fortheheartcries@gmail.com

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