Seeking Only the Mercy of DeathA Poem by god is not great, I am
I woke up that morning to find that I was blind.
Objects as large as a couch appeared as nothing more than a poorly colored blur.
It would have been impossible for me to make a path to walk by had I not been so familiar with the layout of the room.
What sight still remained was so little that is was arguably useless, and yet I felt no feeling of alarm.
The truth is, I had already been blind for a very long time.
Perhaps not in a physical sense, but now the reality only coincided with the emotional state I had long been victim of.
It was only hours earlier when I had begun downing the bottles of liquor, and throwing back the buffet of pills that I hoped to be my last. A potentially lethal cocktail ingested with a single hope:
To end my life.
The effects came on slowly, but hit harshly. Lying on the floor of my living room I gulp down the last of the liquor, and shut my eyes begging with them never to open again.
I had often fantasized about death, thinking how beautiful it must be, so I was not afraid, but ready. Feeling it begin to draw near my only request was that it take me quickly, the sooner the better.
Death, it did visit, but in the end it would not have me.
My eyes opened the next morning to a violent battle in my stomach caused by the previous nights mixture. It felt as if I was being gutted, and so my failed attempt resurfaced itself into my toilet bowl.
That night I had felt death, conversed with it even, like one might with an old friend, but at last I was turned away. My body, not ready to give up the fight, forced me back into the world I so badly wished to leave behind. My first clear thought began with my cursing my body for keeping me alive, when my mind had already given in. I wanted to leave, I was ready, and in the end it was my body, a thing I had never treated with kindness, that kept me alive.
I find myself again, forced to face another day.
What exactly was I to make of a day I never planned to arrive to?
Should I feel fortunate, or just more hopeless than before?
Truly, I hardly felt much at all.
Eventually, using what little life remained in my heavy, unsteady body, I managed to pick myself up off the ground, and reach toward the front door, opening it slowly as if I feared something might jump out at me. Suddenly I start to feel the first ray of sun hit my paler than usual skin. A sensation confirming that in some way I was not yet dead The thought makes me cringe. Reluctantly, I step forward, entering back into the world filled with cruelty enough to rob me of the will to live. Feeling much like bait on the end of a fishing rod, I found myself saying, to myself as well as the world: “come and get me, while you still can.”
© 2011 god is not great, I am
Added on December 6, 2011
Last Updated on December 6, 2011
Tags: suicide attempt
god is not great, I am
AboutNo God. No food. No sleep. That’s all you really need to know about me. Atheist, Anorexic, insomniac. I am sure we have very little in common. Another note: My favorite writer ever- Charl.. more..
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