All I could think about is pain

Note: this is a journal entry from some time ago. Not present.

All I could think about is pain. My life was over, my SO of several years had left. I had no job, I had been taking care of him for so long.

I have tried suicide before, the last time I nearly died. Miraculously, I didn’t die, but I should have. Now, all I wanted to do is go trainspotting, waiting for the right opportunity to throw myself on the tracks of an oncoming train. As fortune would have it, the train station was too crowded. The longer I stayed, the more people showed up. I figured some good Samaritan in a business suit and faux Rolex would grab me before I hit the third rail.

A drive to the lake- and the university rowing team was there. I waited 3 hours. They didn’t leave.

Something was consipiring to keep me alive.

I went home. The next day, for six days I had the flu. I didn’t want to kill myself, I was dead already.

The first day the flu lifted I began researching a way to do it. My p-doc, knowing my suicidality, never would give me full prescriptions. If I got sleeping pills, he would give me four or five. Not enough to OD on. Regular meds cannot be overdosed on, all they will do is make me Exorcist sick. My doc knows me too well.

I crossed the river to a neighboring state and proceeded to buy a gun. They said it would take five days to process. I couldn’t wait five days. I left, driving back across the Delaware river, sun shining, geese over many grassy patches.

I felt dead inside. Hollow. I went home, took a sleeping pill and went to sleep.

Next morning, the pain was as acute as ever. I took the bus into Manhattan, and went to the Empire State Building and the observation deck. I stayed there all day, trying to get over my fear of heights, to walk over to the railing and jump. I couldn’t get over my fear of heights to go to the ledge. Shame.