May 13, 1994
Friday the 13th
"Suicide, I suspect, is very often the outcome of mere mental weariness. Not an act of savage energy but the final symptom of complete collapse."
Joseph Conrad - Chance: A Tale In Two Parts
A few hours ago I kissed my parents goodbye, told them I would see them soon, walked out of the cottage and began my drive back to Chatham. When I reached Suicide Alley on Route 6, I was suddenly overpowered by acute and anxiety, my hands and feet began to shake and tears filled my eyes. I pulled into a rest area and cried, my entire being smothered by intensifying sorrow and fear - wishing to live but hoping to die. Questions and questions about what I should do and what I plan to do? After I cried myself out, I was back on the road.
What is this mental madness of mine? What is this mental metamorphosis of mind, mood and memory that mangles and mutilates without mercy? I do not know the causes but am well aware of the effects and consequences of the creative creatures, despair and depression. These demons are an abhorrent abomination of agonizing anguish that have sapped my strength and scourged my spirit.
Now, I am exhausted, worn down by the weariness of my journey and my inner weaknesses to cope. I am absent of all hope and desire, there is nothing left inside me. Life's been hard, love's been short and I've lost my mind. My condition is that of complete cerebral and cognitive collapse. Now, I'm just a corpse waiting for a coffin. I have reached a point from which there is no escape, no turning back.
In speaking about Marilyn Monroe, Clifford Odets said, "If they tell you that she died of sleeping pills, you must know that she died of a wasting grief, of slow bleeding of the soul." Such will be my death, of wearisome grief, a slow sorrowful suffocation that has bled my soul and spirit dry. More than anything suicide is death by sadness, a sadness woefully woven in loneliness and hopelessness.
Death has become my final refuge, my only hope for peace of mind and body. I have been beaten and bled to death by demons that have neither compassion nor remorse. My pain has been long and I have suffered enough.
Today, I am no longer concerned about regrets and what might have been - there are no what ifs, no worries about what I should have done and what I failed to do. What bothers me is that when I die, no one will care. I will die alone in a room with no one to hold my hand and no one will care, no one will care.
2:00pm - Brooke Library - Harwich, MA
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