WHEN YOU KILL YOURSELF

May 30, 1994
Memorial Day

"We cannot tear a single page from our life, but we can throw the whole book in the fire"
                                                      George Sand   -   Mauprat

It has been an exhausting weekend and one thing is certain, I never should have left the hospital. I am not ready for reality's responsibilities - its demands, obligations and expectations. I yearn for the hospital's locked ward for it was a safe and secure asylum with thick steel doors, that protected me and prevented reality from entering. It was a hidden and homey haven and I miss its confinement of comfort and calmness.

As I walked out of the hospital on Friday afternoon, I promised myself I would do whatever is necessary to get better - aut inveniam viam aut faciam, I shall either find a way or make one. But by the time I reached my father's car, I was having a panic attack, fear and anxiety swept through me as I realized I was now a prisoner, held within the gruesome grasp of relentless reality. I didn't know what I was doing or where I was going. I only knew that I should have stayed where I was. But it was too late to turn back, si I got into the car and went along for the ride.

On the way to Sandwich I asked my father to stop at a super market so I could buy a carton of cigarettes. I also wanted a bottle of Jameson and a case of Guinness but since I'm not allowed to drink this weekend, plus I'm still on medication for an infection, I made do with a carton of Winston Ultra Light 100's. When we got home my mother told me that she had spoken to Maggie and that she had rented space at the Chatham Storage Company for my possessions - and that she and her friends are going to move my belongings there over the weekend and for me to stop by and pay the rent.

A short time later my aunt Clare, uncle Frank and their son, my cousin Frankie, stopped by to visit. There were tears and hugs and I apologized to everyone for everything I had put them through. The person I felt the sorriest for was Frankie.  He is a Yarmouth policeman and when the Chatham police informed Maggie of my suicide attempt, she told them to contact Frankie - which they did. Thus it was Frankie who had the disheartening deed of informing my parents and brother that I was a death's doorstep - for this I am truly sorry.

Early Saturday morning I drove to Chatham, my father came with me. My first stop was the West Chatham Post Office to pick up my mail. There were many bills, loads of junk mail and the last two issues of Time and Sports Illustrated. There was no "Get Well' card from Maggie. No "Get Well" card from her mother. I guess acts of Christian charity are virtues they extend only to themselves..

After the Post Office I went to the Chatham Fire Station to thank the EMT's that responded to the motel's 911 call. They appreciated my thoughtfulness and joked about how much better looked than when they last saw me. Then I went to Chatham Storage and rent for the next three months. Before driving back to Sandwich we went to Larry's PX for coffee and English muffins.

On Sunday I spent a quiet and relaxing day with my parents. During the day we discussed my suicide attempt and learned more about what happened after I was found. They said Frankie called them, they were at their home in Randolph.  He told them I was unconscious and dying and wasn't expected to live for more than a few hours. He added that they shouldn't rush to Cape Cod Hospital because I would probably be dead by the time they arrived. Hearing those words from my parents broke my heart - and I know I'll never know the true extent of their agony and anxiety as they drove they drove the two hour trip from Randolph to Hyannis. It must have been the longest and saddest two hours of their lives.

They told me that when they arrived at the hospital late Monday afternoon, they stayed with me until late Wednesday night - never leaving. During that time they and Clare and Frank took turns reading to me, telling me stories and just talking to me - hoping I would somehow hear and recognize their voices, and somehow open my eyes and come out of the coma.

My mother then told me that while I was in the hospital, she and my father read sections of my journal. And she wanted to know why I wrote about the girl I met in Dingle, Bridget and that I shouldn't write about things I didn't want other people to read. I told her I wanted people to read the journal, it was my suicide note, my final goodbye. And I guess I wanted them to know I had at least one night of fun before I died. We all laughed.

And then once again my mother said, "I have to ask you one more time, why did you take your vitamins and read the Globe just a few hours before you were going to kill yourself?"

I replied, "I've told you a dozen times, I just did!  It's as simple as that! There is no other explanation!"

"It's not as simple as that to me," she said. It makes no sense at all! A person has to be crazy to read the newspaper and take vitamins before he tries to kill  himself"

My father and I laughed and it took my mother another few seconds to realize what she said and then she laughed, too. Yes, I was probably crazy, probably still am - but reading the newspaper and taking my vitamins made perfect sense to me.

At 11:30am this morning I stopped by Chatham Storage. Although it was closed for the holiday, Dick was there and let me in to check my possessions - and I was quickly disappointed. Only about ten-percent of my belongings had been moved out of the house. Dick told mr that everything came in early Saturday afternoon and since then nothing. My guess, Maggie said the hell with it and took everything else to the dump. Time will tell and I'll probably need a lawyer to find out.

This holiday weekend has been a maundering mirage. I have sort of floated through the past three days rather than lived them. I believe being alive is still a shock to my system - my mind, body and soul.

Before heading to Chatham this morning I stopped next door to say good morning to Clare and Frank. They told that when my parents cottage is rented I could stay with them - that they had an extra bedroom and it was mine for as long as I needed it. This was good news. They have always loved me as a son and I have been blessed to have them as my aunt and uncle.

I realize that everything that has happened to me in the past is part of who I am this very minute. Not a single page can be torn out, but I know I must throw the whole damn book away.I must be through with the past and the past must now be through with me. Tomorrow I begin anew. But how do I do it? How do I do it?

4:30pm   -   Holy Redeemer Church   -   Chatham, Ma