Euthanasia

Sometimes there is only so much sadness one can bear.

The pounding rain echoed my profound sadness. It wasn’t that other people had never felt this way, but the crushing weight of my sadness felt very singular. No matter how many times you tell people that you hurt this much, I don’t think they ever really get it.

It was as if the only emotion I felt anymore was the sadness. If another emotion was meant to be expressed, it was done with no vigor, no life. All of my other emotions �" happiness, anger, fear, jealousy �" they had all become one large, grey mass. There were no individual feelings anymore - only the sadness.

I knew I was breaking apart when the thought to end myself crossed my mind. They call it euthanasia when a doctor ends your life when you have a terminal illness. Certainly it would be called suicide if I made the attempt and succeeded, but I would think of it as euthanasia, because the sadness had become so deeply seated. I was in an emotional pit of despair, and I couldn’t see the light from the bottom. There was no way out.

Breaking apart wasn’t exactly the way to describe it either. I was shattering into a million pieces. More than could ever be repaired. I clung to the frays of my life with desperation I had never known before. I could feel myself slipping, and no matter how many people tried to help, I didn’t have the strength to cling to them.

The thought of ending myself used to make me cry. Now it’s met with a feeling of relief. It’s not suicide, it’s euthanasia. It must be. This was a terminal illness of the soul. I had everything neatly planned out. I had my pills. I had my razor blade. I had my note to leave my loved ones. I had the rain that echoed my sadness. It was raining all of the tears I had ever cried all at once.

And then you called.

Maybe it was providence. A divine intervention. Perhaps you’re my guardian angel and I never knew it. You didn’t start by saying hi. Your first words were concerned with my well-being. Are you okay?

The more I thought about the state of my soul, of how dark this pit of emotional waste was, the more I realized I couldn’t answer yes to that. I couldn’t deny the problem, or what I was about to do. I couldn’t say I didn’t have a note written out.

Then I remember feeling the tears rolling down my face, as I slid down the wall of the bathroom to the cool tile. I felt more alive in that instance that I had in many months. You told me you were on the way over, and that I had to stay on the phone with you. All I could do was agree.

In those minutes, or was it hours? I cried for myself, I cried for my sadness, I cried because my soul was ill. I cried for you, my angel, for saving me. You burst into my apartment, found me in the bathroom and all I could do was ask was if it was still raining outside. You looked down at me, surrounded by my euthanasia paraphernalia. All you said was no.