Minggu, 07 September 2008
I Hope You Understand...
I saw her the day before,
All I said was "hey"...
Maybe I could have changed it all,
But I didn't know what to say.
Your deep blue eyes and long brown hair,
Gone from this world for good.
I really should have said something,
To make my feelings understood.
Instead I walked past and held my head in shame,
I walked into my next class.
I thought about it long and hard,
And decided tomorrow I wouldn't walk past.
My chance slipped by along with your life,
Maybe I could have made it better...
But now I stand near the coffin and wonder,
If I said something would it even matter?
Maybe you didn't know, but I thought you were beautiful,
Maybe you just hid your own thoughts though.
I should have told you how I felt...
Instead of taking this massive blow.
You don't seem right for suicide,
It's not the person you've ever been...
I guess I was wrong about that too...
And it's too late to let my thoughts out from within.
So now I sit here and think these thoughts,
That maybe I should do it too...
After all, I'd get a second chance,
My second chance to be with you.
True love or not, it seems so right,
Or at least it does to me...
But even if I had told the truth,
There's no way you would agree.
I feel so weird inside right now,
I don't know how you could take it away...
Theres nothing thats ever that bad in life,
To not want to live another day.
I'm sorry I never told you my feelings,
And I'm more sorry you took my chance...
I wish I didn't have this on my back,
And you're life was still in my hands.
Don't you worry, I'll be there soon enough,
I'm sorry, mom and dad...
Theres only one thing I want in life...
The one thing I never had.
I want her love, I want her in my arms,
More than anyone could stand.
This is my goodbye to life,
I hope you understand...
"I want you back....."
My heart skipped a beat; I wanted her, really wanted her. But the superficial scars on my arms still hadn't healed, and the ones on my left wrist still hurt like hell.
"I don't know, Des......." I said.
"I've......changed. Everyone misses you; especially Jessica." She said. God I missed that kid. That little girl melted my heart far more than her big sister Desiree melted my soul.
"I still don't trust you. I've been alone out here, trying to get my head clear. I'm sure you haven't." I said.
"I went on a couple of dates; but it just didn't feel right." She said.
"With who?" I cried.
"Jessie."
Jessie. The guy who was calling her when I was at work. The guy who was setting up dates on her voice mail. The guy she swore was some creepy surfer dude who hung around at her work and totally turned her off, That Jessie....
"I gotta go......." I hung up the phone before she could protest.
I KNEW it! I KNEW what had been going on; as soon as I'm gone, she's on to the next!
The phone rang and I unplugged it. My body felt as if it were electrified, I needed to get numb in a hurry.
I put on some clothes and got into the Eagle. Putting it in drive I headed up the desolate highway to Beaver for some vodka. Booker was in a dry county; you had to cross the state line to get any kind of alcohol. We never had any thing like that in Kuta Bali......Welcome to redneck central.....
back home I mixed the vodka with some vanilla coke and downed a large glass, then another. I tried to get online to talk to someone, some of my invisible "friends", but nobody was on.
The alcohol was hitting me pretty quick and my thoughts turned to Denpasar. I kept thinking about the knife.....I looked at my wrist; the scars were bright red and the scabs had just recently fallen off.
I missed her. No one had ever been that close to me in my entire life. The was a time when it was all good; but was it REALLY? She would get pissy if I didn't answer a question the way SHE wanted me to. She got more and more violent when she was drunk; I had the scars to prove it. There was the cheating.........There was the sex....God there was sex! Everywhere, ANYwhere, hard soft, whatever. But there was the sex with other guys when I wasn't receiving it. There was the abortion. The murder of my baby. How could I even THINK about going back to her? To THAT?!
I looked around the room; empty. No couch, no t.v., no table, no chairs, no fridge, snow blowing in through the sliding glass door. This was the most expensive rental in Booker at $500 a month. FAR less than the dump I was renting in Alpine for $1,750 a month........
It was 9pm, far too early for bed; but there was nothing else to do.
My face was numb.
I slapped my cheeks hard to see how much I could feel.
I finished the 2 liter of vanilla coke and figured I needed to go the 2 blocks to get some more. I stumbled outside in the -2* cold and decided the better of it.
I climbed into the Summit and turned on the radio. I must have listened to "Mr. Brightside" for at least a half an hour.
What was this shit?! I USED to be strong; I was the one whom always said I would never let a woman crush me. I used to put down my brother, my best friend, my uncle after seeing how crushed they were by a mere woman.
"I owe them a big apology." I slurred to myself.
How could she do this to me? How could I let her do this to me? I wanted to be dead so badly, but I wasn't weak enough to actually kill myself. I prayed for the Lord to take me.
I lay in the snow, staring at the full moon in just my pyjama bottoms. I don't know how long I lay there, but I prayed over and over again for the Lord to take me. I didn't want to, COULDN'T bear this any longer; I wanted to die.
Jesus loves me, I know.
He wouldn't take me that night. He had bigger plans for me.
I went inside and watched an old vhs of the Care Bears until I fell sleep.
My heart skipped a beat; I wanted her, really wanted her. But the superficial scars on my arms still hadn't healed, and the ones on my left wrist still hurt like hell.
"I don't know, Des......." I said.
"I've......changed. Everyone misses you; especially Jessica." She said. God I missed that kid. That little girl melted my heart far more than her big sister Desiree melted my soul.
"I still don't trust you. I've been alone out here, trying to get my head clear. I'm sure you haven't." I said.
"I went on a couple of dates; but it just didn't feel right." She said.
"With who?" I cried.
"Jessie."
Jessie. The guy who was calling her when I was at work. The guy who was setting up dates on her voice mail. The guy she swore was some creepy surfer dude who hung around at her work and totally turned her off, That Jessie....
"I gotta go......." I hung up the phone before she could protest.
I KNEW it! I KNEW what had been going on; as soon as I'm gone, she's on to the next!
The phone rang and I unplugged it. My body felt as if it were electrified, I needed to get numb in a hurry.
I put on some clothes and got into the Eagle. Putting it in drive I headed up the desolate highway to Beaver for some vodka. Booker was in a dry county; you had to cross the state line to get any kind of alcohol. We never had any thing like that in Kuta Bali......Welcome to redneck central.....
back home I mixed the vodka with some vanilla coke and downed a large glass, then another. I tried to get online to talk to someone, some of my invisible "friends", but nobody was on.
The alcohol was hitting me pretty quick and my thoughts turned to Denpasar. I kept thinking about the knife.....I looked at my wrist; the scars were bright red and the scabs had just recently fallen off.
I missed her. No one had ever been that close to me in my entire life. The was a time when it was all good; but was it REALLY? She would get pissy if I didn't answer a question the way SHE wanted me to. She got more and more violent when she was drunk; I had the scars to prove it. There was the cheating.........There was the sex....God there was sex! Everywhere, ANYwhere, hard soft, whatever. But there was the sex with other guys when I wasn't receiving it. There was the abortion. The murder of my baby. How could I even THINK about going back to her? To THAT?!
I looked around the room; empty. No couch, no t.v., no table, no chairs, no fridge, snow blowing in through the sliding glass door. This was the most expensive rental in Booker at $500 a month. FAR less than the dump I was renting in Alpine for $1,750 a month........
It was 9pm, far too early for bed; but there was nothing else to do.
My face was numb.
I slapped my cheeks hard to see how much I could feel.
I finished the 2 liter of vanilla coke and figured I needed to go the 2 blocks to get some more. I stumbled outside in the -2* cold and decided the better of it.
I climbed into the Summit and turned on the radio. I must have listened to "Mr. Brightside" for at least a half an hour.
What was this shit?! I USED to be strong; I was the one whom always said I would never let a woman crush me. I used to put down my brother, my best friend, my uncle after seeing how crushed they were by a mere woman.
"I owe them a big apology." I slurred to myself.
How could she do this to me? How could I let her do this to me? I wanted to be dead so badly, but I wasn't weak enough to actually kill myself. I prayed for the Lord to take me.
I lay in the snow, staring at the full moon in just my pyjama bottoms. I don't know how long I lay there, but I prayed over and over again for the Lord to take me. I didn't want to, COULDN'T bear this any longer; I wanted to die.
Jesus loves me, I know.
He wouldn't take me that night. He had bigger plans for me.
I went inside and watched an old vhs of the Care Bears until I fell sleep.
My Sadness...
I was shattered most of my life. Nothing but emotional debris, pieces of my self esteem scattered all over the place with broken tips so it wouldn't stick together even if I matched the pieces. A torn broken puzzle... Pages of my journals scribbled with nothing but suicide threats and smeared with bloody tears.
I had never tasted happiness. I could see others who had it, I could almost feel it, but no matter how much I searched for it, I could never find it. I searched corner after corner, which turned up empty, I flipped over rocks, I found blanks everywhere.
I decided to get lost in a melancholy sea, and it was a comfortable area for me. Somehow I found comfort in being sad. My sadness was the only thing keeping me alive, and I was barely breathing. It felt like being stuck in a void.
Then in 2004 I decided that the world was too cold for me and that my ending would result to suicide. Like a lot of my fellow Pisceans before me, I had chosen death so I could sigh eternally.
I have never been afraid of my own death. To me, death is losing your family and friends on this world and being left alone on earth to cope with the lost, that's my definition of death... I have a close affiliation with the other side so my own death had never scared me, I wasn't sure how I was going to do it, I wrote several goodbye letters to the people I loved (about you know, 5 people), I locked my journals inside a safe hoping they would never be found because I had never found anyone I could share them with, for everyone had I known had always betrayed me in one way or another. I set up my life insurance for everything to make sure my poor mother had enough money to bury my corpse.
It was all carefully planned. The song that would play at the funeral, the clothes I would wear, the poem that was going to be read, and the guilt that I had clearly indicated my plans in advance in so much of my writing and poetry that people should have known and would be sad that they could have saved the Lost Piscean but they didn't…so selfish. Everything was planned and worked out to the very last detail.
They say that you cry for help when your suicidal, whether you hear yourself or not, and being the strong communicator that I am (Mercury in Aquarius which is a very intellectual/humanitarian sign), I must of slipped and mumbled "SOS" out loud somehow. Maybe it was the days I spent mopping around in my room, or the bad live journal entries I would spit out, but somehow someone heard me.
Today, I owe the world to this person, my soul mate who heard my distant frail cry. He carried me through the hardest times of my life, and I wasn’t helping myself to walk at all. Even though I screamed at this person a million times that he didn't understand me, he is possibly the only human who ever did. He didn't even know I was on the verge of suicide at the time, but he somehow still managed to take the loaded gun away from my temple anyway.
Just when I had lost all faith in human kind and had chosen to end my life so I can move on to another realm of things, a new start in the unknown, and an angel came and rescued me...
Now a year later, I'm finally part of the happy people. I've found myself a true soul mate to share my life with and everyday I thank the god/goddesses that I didn't decide to leave this lifetime after all.
Life changes, it may take awhile, but hang in there. I was always the one thinking negative thoughts only. "I was never meant to be happy", I was the "black sheep and would die a spinster", I was burdened with a "dark black sad suicidal faith", now I'm the happiest person around.
It had never occurred to me, that to get happiness that's genuine and real, you have to walk through hard times and bleed lots of blood. Nothing comes for free.
Don't ever give up on life, keep on bleeding….eventually the blood will run dry and you may just meet an angel to pump you with some fresh blood.
I had never tasted happiness. I could see others who had it, I could almost feel it, but no matter how much I searched for it, I could never find it. I searched corner after corner, which turned up empty, I flipped over rocks, I found blanks everywhere.
I decided to get lost in a melancholy sea, and it was a comfortable area for me. Somehow I found comfort in being sad. My sadness was the only thing keeping me alive, and I was barely breathing. It felt like being stuck in a void.
Then in 2004 I decided that the world was too cold for me and that my ending would result to suicide. Like a lot of my fellow Pisceans before me, I had chosen death so I could sigh eternally.
I have never been afraid of my own death. To me, death is losing your family and friends on this world and being left alone on earth to cope with the lost, that's my definition of death... I have a close affiliation with the other side so my own death had never scared me, I wasn't sure how I was going to do it, I wrote several goodbye letters to the people I loved (about you know, 5 people), I locked my journals inside a safe hoping they would never be found because I had never found anyone I could share them with, for everyone had I known had always betrayed me in one way or another. I set up my life insurance for everything to make sure my poor mother had enough money to bury my corpse.
It was all carefully planned. The song that would play at the funeral, the clothes I would wear, the poem that was going to be read, and the guilt that I had clearly indicated my plans in advance in so much of my writing and poetry that people should have known and would be sad that they could have saved the Lost Piscean but they didn't…so selfish. Everything was planned and worked out to the very last detail.
They say that you cry for help when your suicidal, whether you hear yourself or not, and being the strong communicator that I am (Mercury in Aquarius which is a very intellectual/humanitarian sign), I must of slipped and mumbled "SOS" out loud somehow. Maybe it was the days I spent mopping around in my room, or the bad live journal entries I would spit out, but somehow someone heard me.
Today, I owe the world to this person, my soul mate who heard my distant frail cry. He carried me through the hardest times of my life, and I wasn’t helping myself to walk at all. Even though I screamed at this person a million times that he didn't understand me, he is possibly the only human who ever did. He didn't even know I was on the verge of suicide at the time, but he somehow still managed to take the loaded gun away from my temple anyway.
Just when I had lost all faith in human kind and had chosen to end my life so I can move on to another realm of things, a new start in the unknown, and an angel came and rescued me...
Now a year later, I'm finally part of the happy people. I've found myself a true soul mate to share my life with and everyday I thank the god/goddesses that I didn't decide to leave this lifetime after all.
Life changes, it may take awhile, but hang in there. I was always the one thinking negative thoughts only. "I was never meant to be happy", I was the "black sheep and would die a spinster", I was burdened with a "dark black sad suicidal faith", now I'm the happiest person around.
It had never occurred to me, that to get happiness that's genuine and real, you have to walk through hard times and bleed lots of blood. Nothing comes for free.
Don't ever give up on life, keep on bleeding….eventually the blood will run dry and you may just meet an angel to pump you with some fresh blood.
WHERE ARE THE FUCKING PARAMEDICS?!
No it can’t be I won’t let it happen I refuse to let her die, i'm only a little fucking boy what the hell am I supposed to do?
I see the vodka bottle and the now empty valium container along with the other empty pill bottles on the floor. God knows what was in them.
I threw my book bag down and grabbed the cell phone, rushed into the kitchen, tears streaming down my rosy cheeks, as I just had run from the bus stop to my house.
This was normal procedure for me, but what I didn’t expect was to see my friend collapse in front of me into the kitchen floor, as I walked into the house.
“NO! NOOOOO!!” I cried as I talked to her “don’t die Jess!! I love you!!” but no response came from her.
I quickly called 9-1-1 and the lady picked up ‘9-1-1 rescue’ she asked questions to such as what he took and the lady told me to remain calm and everything would be alright.
I remember franticly yelling my address at her and exclaiming HOW CAN EVERY THING BE ALRIGHT! HE ATTEMPTED SUICIDE! He... He... He... OVERDOSED! She asked how old I was.
Since I sounded so young, and yet knew so much about the subject.
I'm 21 years old thank you very much I said sarcastically I don’t know it BECAUSE I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT IT I know it because it's not the first fucking time he’s done it! I yelled.
In fact this would be the 3rd time I’ve saved her or attempted to save her from most certain death, I thought to myself as she was babbling on about how I need counseling and it would help a great deal.
Blah blah blah blah is all I heard. I didn’t need to hear all that. WHERE ARE THE FUCKING PARAMEDICS?! I yelled.
And moments later they came in the door of the house and I told the lady they were here and I rudely hung up on her.
The paramedic guy asked me where my parents were and I told him my father was at work and my mother lived out-of-state.
So I hopped into the ambulance with my friend and then at the hospital they asked how old he was and I replied he’s 19, everything’s in his wallet, where did you put his belongings?
The nurse handed me a bag of clothing and I shoved my hand in and fished around for the wallet, and handed her his driver’s license and insurance card and she walked out of the room.
By that time I had already called my father and told him what had happened and that he was in the hospital to have his stomach pumped, room 105.
Now he had come to see how he was doing but I told him just go back to work.
I’d take care of him. And he shoved 50$ into my hand and told me to call a cab when he was released, take her home and make sure you stay here tonight.
Don’t you fucking go around getting drunk or whoreing around tonight you hear me? Yeah yeah I hear you Dad!!!
Now just go get lost and leave me be, and with that he left. This was normal for her; it didn’t shock me at all.
My Daddy hated Jessica, after all it was his step-son but never the less I always took care of her.
“Oh God Jessica don’t die on me, this would make TWO people in my life now that have died from suicide, I wont let you go you’re the only one I have left!
Remember all the good times we had? DAMNIT don’t you remember?!” and I cried myself to sleep right by hier side, in the chair and I didn’t wake up until the next morning when I heard Jessica’s voice she had said...
“well good morning sleepy head!” and I rushed to her side and gave her a big hug, “thank you God... your not dead, I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you”
I see the vodka bottle and the now empty valium container along with the other empty pill bottles on the floor. God knows what was in them.
I threw my book bag down and grabbed the cell phone, rushed into the kitchen, tears streaming down my rosy cheeks, as I just had run from the bus stop to my house.
This was normal procedure for me, but what I didn’t expect was to see my friend collapse in front of me into the kitchen floor, as I walked into the house.
“NO! NOOOOO!!” I cried as I talked to her “don’t die Jess!! I love you!!” but no response came from her.
I quickly called 9-1-1 and the lady picked up ‘9-1-1 rescue’ she asked questions to such as what he took and the lady told me to remain calm and everything would be alright.
I remember franticly yelling my address at her and exclaiming HOW CAN EVERY THING BE ALRIGHT! HE ATTEMPTED SUICIDE! He... He... He... OVERDOSED! She asked how old I was.
Since I sounded so young, and yet knew so much about the subject.
I'm 21 years old thank you very much I said sarcastically I don’t know it BECAUSE I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT IT I know it because it's not the first fucking time he’s done it! I yelled.
In fact this would be the 3rd time I’ve saved her or attempted to save her from most certain death, I thought to myself as she was babbling on about how I need counseling and it would help a great deal.
Blah blah blah blah is all I heard. I didn’t need to hear all that. WHERE ARE THE FUCKING PARAMEDICS?! I yelled.
And moments later they came in the door of the house and I told the lady they were here and I rudely hung up on her.
The paramedic guy asked me where my parents were and I told him my father was at work and my mother lived out-of-state.
So I hopped into the ambulance with my friend and then at the hospital they asked how old he was and I replied he’s 19, everything’s in his wallet, where did you put his belongings?
The nurse handed me a bag of clothing and I shoved my hand in and fished around for the wallet, and handed her his driver’s license and insurance card and she walked out of the room.
By that time I had already called my father and told him what had happened and that he was in the hospital to have his stomach pumped, room 105.
Now he had come to see how he was doing but I told him just go back to work.
I’d take care of him. And he shoved 50$ into my hand and told me to call a cab when he was released, take her home and make sure you stay here tonight.
Don’t you fucking go around getting drunk or whoreing around tonight you hear me? Yeah yeah I hear you Dad!!!
Now just go get lost and leave me be, and with that he left. This was normal for her; it didn’t shock me at all.
My Daddy hated Jessica, after all it was his step-son but never the less I always took care of her.
“Oh God Jessica don’t die on me, this would make TWO people in my life now that have died from suicide, I wont let you go you’re the only one I have left!
Remember all the good times we had? DAMNIT don’t you remember?!” and I cried myself to sleep right by hier side, in the chair and I didn’t wake up until the next morning when I heard Jessica’s voice she had said...
“well good morning sleepy head!” and I rushed to her side and gave her a big hug, “thank you God... your not dead, I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you”
You Think This Is Stupid?
Dear friends don't worry. You think this is stupid, its not.
I wish I could make you understand every single thought running through my head driving me to this point, pulling me, all but demanding me to go there.
There's no one word, no one way to describe it. It hurts me yes, but it also brings me joy, it makes me cry, makes me cut myself, makes me bleed scream and lash out.
But there's so much more to it that I can't begin to explain.
Please listen dear friends; please don't hate me for what I have to say, what I have to do, what words I carelessly scrawl down in an effort to make you understand.
I'm broken, broken into pieces to small for you to comprehend, you can’t help me put them together. And I can’t help myself.
So please understand that I'm already gone, already forever lost to this world. A shell can only do so much, and this shell has reached its limits.
My pieces are scattered, some I don't even recognize, some I don't want to take back, and some, my friends, you are smashing even further.
Please understand that I'm sorry, that this is what I feel I must do, please understand this is my salvation, this is what I want, this will make me happy.
Please don't think that I'm selfish.
If anything you are the ones that are greedy asking me to stay where I can not, if anything you are the ones that are heartless.
Bounding me to a world that holds no place for me. My broken soul wants free from this torment, hell would be a relief.
Heaven I can not ask for, I have no right to even set eyes upon such a happy place.
Ironically I speak of things in which I do not believe, that's right in my world there is no heaven or hell, I do not believe in god or satan, I do not capitalize their names in respect for in my mind their merely an idea, not a person.
I do not go to church, I do not pray or hope that god shows mercy on me, because he never has and I don't think he ever will.
Please dear friends, bear with me. Have you ever wanted to just make it all go away, that's what I'm doing.
Have you ever wanted a break, that's what I'm getting. Have you ever wanted to prove that you’re right, worth something, that's what I'm doing.
Dear friends I know you all at one point have wished you were dead, that one point hasn't stopped for me, nor will it until I die, I'm just making my every dream, come true.
Please don't hate me for that.
I wish I could make you understand every single thought running through my head driving me to this point, pulling me, all but demanding me to go there.
There's no one word, no one way to describe it. It hurts me yes, but it also brings me joy, it makes me cry, makes me cut myself, makes me bleed scream and lash out.
But there's so much more to it that I can't begin to explain.
Please listen dear friends; please don't hate me for what I have to say, what I have to do, what words I carelessly scrawl down in an effort to make you understand.
I'm broken, broken into pieces to small for you to comprehend, you can’t help me put them together. And I can’t help myself.
So please understand that I'm already gone, already forever lost to this world. A shell can only do so much, and this shell has reached its limits.
My pieces are scattered, some I don't even recognize, some I don't want to take back, and some, my friends, you are smashing even further.
Please understand that I'm sorry, that this is what I feel I must do, please understand this is my salvation, this is what I want, this will make me happy.
Please don't think that I'm selfish.
If anything you are the ones that are greedy asking me to stay where I can not, if anything you are the ones that are heartless.
Bounding me to a world that holds no place for me. My broken soul wants free from this torment, hell would be a relief.
Heaven I can not ask for, I have no right to even set eyes upon such a happy place.
Ironically I speak of things in which I do not believe, that's right in my world there is no heaven or hell, I do not believe in god or satan, I do not capitalize their names in respect for in my mind their merely an idea, not a person.
I do not go to church, I do not pray or hope that god shows mercy on me, because he never has and I don't think he ever will.
Please dear friends, bear with me. Have you ever wanted to just make it all go away, that's what I'm doing.
Have you ever wanted a break, that's what I'm getting. Have you ever wanted to prove that you’re right, worth something, that's what I'm doing.
Dear friends I know you all at one point have wished you were dead, that one point hasn't stopped for me, nor will it until I die, I'm just making my every dream, come true.
Please don't hate me for that.
Rabu, 03 September 2008
IF I SHOULD DIE TOMORROW..
If I should die tomorrow or the day next,
This may be the last of what today I speak,
So do bear not with a cynical eye,
Embrace my hand,
For least, smile,
As I travel through the valleys and paths
Of a common field,
Inhaling the deep velocity of this picturesque scene
And with unsteady tranquility these emerging lips whisper;
As I profoundly puzzled at why,
Whence this hill invoked dullness in you
Smiled; a silent miracle for me,
Yet! what resides in my mind, remains my own nameless mystery
Let me not bother you with words of empty description ,
But given the chance, grasp profoundly the beauty served upon you,
For a time will come where they will be gone
And I will be gone too,
Friend
Learn this, the world may seem demeaning
Until you find a song of your own,
And justly close your eyes,
For simplicity is at its best with one or another sense lacking,
Strive to be contented, for only then the truth of happiness shall befall you,
Do Listen more than you see
And taste more than you smell,
And love more than you can!
And execute all with a smile
For however tough’ed a heart can be
Surely A heart yet soundly beats,
Do never underestimate the supremacy of love,
As In crooks of unexpected alleyways it creeps
Stranger,
Always claim advantage to an uncertain prospect
Know that though a love felt today may be gone tomorrow
Rejoice and celebrate
The feeling of a human,
For what was will always be,
Never look back in woe,
Nay! express joy for a lesson learnt,
Triumph! for that is truly a victory,
Just once, dance in the rain; to a tune that plays no music,
And smile to him who work’ed his best
Though no reward may be granted upon him,
Honor his effort,
Sister,
Hold the hand of the one you love
And play no heed to they,
And listen to the beats of your heart
As they are bestowed upon you as a guidance,
Do not disregard its merit,
For your heart knows you like no other
Father,
Strive for knowledge,
For spiritual well being,
Distinguish your mind as an open grassland,
And times will come where it is your priority to act selfishly,
while sacrifice little of yourself; if to another it indicates much
And never acknowledge that survival is extinct without wealth
For Survival is dead without a conscientious heart ; ambiguously
Mother,
Forgive but not forget,
by no means hold back tears
For no tear shed is a tear wasted,
They are truly miracles,
Draining a mar within you,
For me, and you, and all,
To feel inferior is a personal belief of your own,
As it requires your consent
Live as you know how,
Live as you know best,
Let life Live within you,
And of by tomorrow I may be gone
Let this be evidence
That I tried,
And for that grant me all
Maybe more!
Your Smile....
Sabtu, 30 Agustus 2008
To Be...,Or Not To Be
"To Be..., or Not To Be... That, is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune..." ~Shakespeare
Some seem to be going through life with little or no energy, and of poor spirit. Admittedly, society can heap huge dispair on our daily lives by forcing us to endure situations that can be intolerable at best. But is it ever a cause for self-pity, or the impetus for feeling sorry for ourselves? This is the question.
Everyone experiences severe emotional pain, or a horrific situation which may seem completely unbearable at some points in their lives. Some can cope much better than others, but in either case, it can be worked through by making changes, taking on new challenges, or even participating in something productive, things will generally get better over time. One must know without a doubt, that no matter what happens, it will always work out and it will be okay.
I support a person's right to do what they will with their life. Each individual is responsible for their own happiness and if someone decides to end their life, that's completely their choice alone and no one else's business. However, if the thought ever crosses your mind, go for a walk, take another hit of fresh air, talk to friends and family, or do something you really enjoy to take your mind off of it until it passes.
Life can be good when you work at it, sometimes things go wrong, but don't ever feel sorry for yourself. Simply let it go. That is the answer.
believe your pain?
I remember the last time we were together. "You have to get back on that horse" you said to me, your voice traced with that silvery laughter I knew so well. I was terrified. My fears had not left me since the last time I went climbing and I'd slipped halfway down the cliff. But... you swore that it would be good for me. So we packed all of our equipment and left for the mountains.
There is a brief flash of clarity, a glimpse of the hospital ceiling and the cold light that hangs above me, then the memories continue. Relentlessly.
I remember being up on the rock face. We'd reached the halfway point, and I was feeling pretty good, my tensions had eased and I was actually enjoying myself. The mountains were peaceful, the silence occasionally broken by the call of a bird, or the rustle of the trees as the breeze floated through them. So tranquil and serene. It was as if we were on top of the world and nothing could touch us. Suddenly a sharp sound filled the air. It sounded like a gunshot. I froze, paralyzed with fear. But... nothing happened.
Perhaps a hunter had been in the valley below, and the accoustics of the place sent the gunshot much louder and closer then it actually was. I wish that was the case... I truly do. As I sighed with relief, I felt the mountain tremble under my hands in a way that it was never intended to. I looked back towards you, to call out for you to hold on. Instead I was just in time to see your god lovely blue eyes lock on mine, huge and wide with shock as the rock crumbled from beneath you.
I still remember how you looked as you fell. A small form, like a child's rag doll, tumbling over and over to the bottom of the mountain. I tried to reach out to you, tried to catch you before it was too late, but I lost my hold on the ropes. My last sight before I blacked out was your body as you hit the rocks. I thought you were dead.
For a moment an angel has mercy on me, and the memories stop. It only lasts a moment, but it's so full of heartache and loss, that it's almost a relief when they begin again.
It is morning this time and I don't know where I am. The walls are stark and pale, there is a sharp scent of ammonia and sickness in the air.
"He's awake Doctor." A strange woman walks to me. "Do you know who you are? What day of the week is it? Hun, I need you to try and speak to me..."
I'm me, of course, what is she talking about? I'm so confused....
The confusion isn't helped when the room suddenly fills with commotion as my mother and then my father burst into sight. "Oh my God!' She starts to cry. She is holding my hand, babbling words. She's not making any sense. My father leans over her shoulder and tries to give me a reassuring smile, a flat, dead kind of smile that makes me uneasy to look at. "It's okay son. You're going to be all right." All right? Why wouldn’t I be all right? Why was I here? What was going on?
It was a question that wasn't answered then. Wasn't answered for some time, and like a sadistic partner who delights in my pain, my thoughts take me further along the path.
My memories take me to when they were ready to release me. The doctor had run me through the usual tests. There was something wrong, I can tell they've been holding something back from me and I just stare blankly at the man until he speaks. He cleared his throat in an uncomfortable sort of way, obviously bracing himself to ask things neither of us want him to. "The girl you were with, do you remember her?"
His words hit me like ice, and the fall is relived once more, a memory within a memory. "Yes." I turned away at once, not wanting to face you, see how you looked when you fell. Not wanting to think about it at all.
And the doctor, that fucking bastard, he just keeps talking. "Your family feels it would be best for you to know..." I cut him off quickly, not wanting to hear the words. "I know. She's dead."
He looks at me strangely, I didn’t notice then, but his eyes were flat with suppressed emotion. You'd think he'd take a hint that I didn't want to talk about it. But then, the cruel bastard, he dangles out hope without even thinking and for a moment I feel alive again. "No, she made it through the fall..."
"Where is she?" I feel frantic with the need to see you. My hands reach out of their own accord and grip the collar of his jacket, pulling him close with a strength I didn’t know I had. And clearly it was a strength HE didn't even know I had, judging by the look of shock and surprise on his face. “Tell me! NOW! I have to go see her!”
"She's here, in the hospital, easy son. Don't get too excited, listen to me first." He pushes me down as I try to rise, his hand gently loosen mine from his shirt. Or at least attempting to, I refuse to let go, and even try to use his own body to pull myself upright. "You need to know this, she's in a coma."
I don't care! You are alive! My love, my life... you still breathe! Was the man made of stone? All my attempts to shove past him and get to you were like throwing myself against a brick wall. A brick wall that grabs my shoulders and forces me to hear what he's saying. "Look at me! Her neck was broken in the fall, she won't regain consciousness!"
What? No... that's not right. Why tell me she was alive only to snatch her away again... this doesn't make sense...
I stop struggling, unable to understand what he was trying to tell me and sink down into the bed in a confused huddle. My family comes in shortly after, and I can hear my mother's tears when the doctor tells her how I responded. She holds me and talks to me, but I don’t want to hear what she says. It's not real. It can't be real.
Another day has passed in my travels through the past, and another memory comes to beat me with it's presence. They've kept me here, overnight, wishing to observe me. My mother said I should go see you. I can't.. you're dead. How can I face you, when I failed to save you? My head shakes and I try to roll away... only to hear a moan of loss and realize it’s my own anguish that has slipped past my lips. It's like I'm not aware of the way my body is betraying me, screaming for you when all I want to do is go to sleep and never wake up. Take back what happened somehow, refuse to go... something.
The doctor comes in again, his nurse moves me as if I was some oversized doll, running tests on a lifeless body. She cleans me up and dresses me, the doctor whispers something to my mother about a sedative... they are sending me home with her. They think it will make me better to be in familiar surroundings. Familiar. Places that I had shared with you, that had your presence marked all over them. My face feels wet, like I'm crying, though I don't feel like I am. And I don't care enough to wipe it away. I just watch as my mother, looking older then her years, comes and holds my hand while my father wheels me out of the hospital.
Why do the memories keep coming? Taunting and tormenting me now. Flashes of my life without you, days go by, then weeks. There's nothing useful in them, none of them last more then a few seconds, but each one is filled with emptiness. A hole where you should be. There you should have been smiling at me... and there we would have fought over me not putting the toilet seat down. Or there...
Then one morning my mother comes into my room. She’s nervous, her hands twist in the hem of her shirt... she doesn’t want to tell me. But I know. They are taking you off life support in the morning. I can't bear it. That memory lingers for a while, suffocating me with the weight of my mother's pain. She loved you, you know. You were like her own daughter... I can see it hurts her, but it can't hurt her as much as it does me...
Preparing to bury you comes shortly after that. A final nail in the coffin of my heart, I feel numb. Your family asked me to come, tried to make me a part of it... but how can I choose the cold crypt to rest your body in? How can I look at those long wooden boxes... knowing that they will forever bar me from you? What a disgusting mockery of our love for me to choose the last items of clothing to grace your form. Your father didn’t understand. He thought that I was being a coward, if it was his wife I guess he wouldn’t have a problem shoving her in the dirt. Not so for me. Your mother has mercy though and makes the decisions for me. I crawl back into my bed, where I have been all week, and lay there... missing you.
A jump in the memories, and I find myself sitting there with my family, listening to them telling me about it. Apparently your funeral was lovely. How they can think that, when they are sending you off to your eternal rest, I will never understand. My family is trying to convince me to go out, start seeing people. How sick. There will never be another day without you... I am in one endless nightmare. My soul has been ripped into two, the joyous half died with you. I miss you...
Today I’ve been moved back into our... my apartment. This should at least be a somewhat merciful memory, and for a moment my body relaxes from the tension I've been in this whole time. That is until the loneliness begins again. My family is still worried, and old roommate moved in with me, to give me someone to talk to. Or so they say. I watch him move around the house, listlessly make the expected protests when he goes to throw your things out. He’s under orders from the family, remove all traces of you in an attempt to get me focused on living again. But how are they going to remove the hole in my heart? He keeps about his work. It doesn’t matter. You’re gone. You're never going to wear that dress again, or read that book. He can have it all. I've made my decision.
Night falls. And I am here.. this was the spot where we had our picnic on that fateful day. I’ve been sitting here remembering those horrendous weeks for hours now. I could not save you then, but... maybe I can be with you now. A gleam of silver across a blade. The pain is sharp, but short. Already I feel weaker...
There is a brief flash of clarity, a glimpse of the hospital ceiling and the cold light that hangs above me, then the memories continue. Relentlessly.
I remember being up on the rock face. We'd reached the halfway point, and I was feeling pretty good, my tensions had eased and I was actually enjoying myself. The mountains were peaceful, the silence occasionally broken by the call of a bird, or the rustle of the trees as the breeze floated through them. So tranquil and serene. It was as if we were on top of the world and nothing could touch us. Suddenly a sharp sound filled the air. It sounded like a gunshot. I froze, paralyzed with fear. But... nothing happened.
Perhaps a hunter had been in the valley below, and the accoustics of the place sent the gunshot much louder and closer then it actually was. I wish that was the case... I truly do. As I sighed with relief, I felt the mountain tremble under my hands in a way that it was never intended to. I looked back towards you, to call out for you to hold on. Instead I was just in time to see your god lovely blue eyes lock on mine, huge and wide with shock as the rock crumbled from beneath you.
I still remember how you looked as you fell. A small form, like a child's rag doll, tumbling over and over to the bottom of the mountain. I tried to reach out to you, tried to catch you before it was too late, but I lost my hold on the ropes. My last sight before I blacked out was your body as you hit the rocks. I thought you were dead.
For a moment an angel has mercy on me, and the memories stop. It only lasts a moment, but it's so full of heartache and loss, that it's almost a relief when they begin again.
It is morning this time and I don't know where I am. The walls are stark and pale, there is a sharp scent of ammonia and sickness in the air.
"He's awake Doctor." A strange woman walks to me. "Do you know who you are? What day of the week is it? Hun, I need you to try and speak to me..."
I'm me, of course, what is she talking about? I'm so confused....
The confusion isn't helped when the room suddenly fills with commotion as my mother and then my father burst into sight. "Oh my God!' She starts to cry. She is holding my hand, babbling words. She's not making any sense. My father leans over her shoulder and tries to give me a reassuring smile, a flat, dead kind of smile that makes me uneasy to look at. "It's okay son. You're going to be all right." All right? Why wouldn’t I be all right? Why was I here? What was going on?
It was a question that wasn't answered then. Wasn't answered for some time, and like a sadistic partner who delights in my pain, my thoughts take me further along the path.
My memories take me to when they were ready to release me. The doctor had run me through the usual tests. There was something wrong, I can tell they've been holding something back from me and I just stare blankly at the man until he speaks. He cleared his throat in an uncomfortable sort of way, obviously bracing himself to ask things neither of us want him to. "The girl you were with, do you remember her?"
His words hit me like ice, and the fall is relived once more, a memory within a memory. "Yes." I turned away at once, not wanting to face you, see how you looked when you fell. Not wanting to think about it at all.
And the doctor, that fucking bastard, he just keeps talking. "Your family feels it would be best for you to know..." I cut him off quickly, not wanting to hear the words. "I know. She's dead."
He looks at me strangely, I didn’t notice then, but his eyes were flat with suppressed emotion. You'd think he'd take a hint that I didn't want to talk about it. But then, the cruel bastard, he dangles out hope without even thinking and for a moment I feel alive again. "No, she made it through the fall..."
"Where is she?" I feel frantic with the need to see you. My hands reach out of their own accord and grip the collar of his jacket, pulling him close with a strength I didn’t know I had. And clearly it was a strength HE didn't even know I had, judging by the look of shock and surprise on his face. “Tell me! NOW! I have to go see her!”
"She's here, in the hospital, easy son. Don't get too excited, listen to me first." He pushes me down as I try to rise, his hand gently loosen mine from his shirt. Or at least attempting to, I refuse to let go, and even try to use his own body to pull myself upright. "You need to know this, she's in a coma."
I don't care! You are alive! My love, my life... you still breathe! Was the man made of stone? All my attempts to shove past him and get to you were like throwing myself against a brick wall. A brick wall that grabs my shoulders and forces me to hear what he's saying. "Look at me! Her neck was broken in the fall, she won't regain consciousness!"
What? No... that's not right. Why tell me she was alive only to snatch her away again... this doesn't make sense...
I stop struggling, unable to understand what he was trying to tell me and sink down into the bed in a confused huddle. My family comes in shortly after, and I can hear my mother's tears when the doctor tells her how I responded. She holds me and talks to me, but I don’t want to hear what she says. It's not real. It can't be real.
Another day has passed in my travels through the past, and another memory comes to beat me with it's presence. They've kept me here, overnight, wishing to observe me. My mother said I should go see you. I can't.. you're dead. How can I face you, when I failed to save you? My head shakes and I try to roll away... only to hear a moan of loss and realize it’s my own anguish that has slipped past my lips. It's like I'm not aware of the way my body is betraying me, screaming for you when all I want to do is go to sleep and never wake up. Take back what happened somehow, refuse to go... something.
The doctor comes in again, his nurse moves me as if I was some oversized doll, running tests on a lifeless body. She cleans me up and dresses me, the doctor whispers something to my mother about a sedative... they are sending me home with her. They think it will make me better to be in familiar surroundings. Familiar. Places that I had shared with you, that had your presence marked all over them. My face feels wet, like I'm crying, though I don't feel like I am. And I don't care enough to wipe it away. I just watch as my mother, looking older then her years, comes and holds my hand while my father wheels me out of the hospital.
Why do the memories keep coming? Taunting and tormenting me now. Flashes of my life without you, days go by, then weeks. There's nothing useful in them, none of them last more then a few seconds, but each one is filled with emptiness. A hole where you should be. There you should have been smiling at me... and there we would have fought over me not putting the toilet seat down. Or there...
Then one morning my mother comes into my room. She’s nervous, her hands twist in the hem of her shirt... she doesn’t want to tell me. But I know. They are taking you off life support in the morning. I can't bear it. That memory lingers for a while, suffocating me with the weight of my mother's pain. She loved you, you know. You were like her own daughter... I can see it hurts her, but it can't hurt her as much as it does me...
Preparing to bury you comes shortly after that. A final nail in the coffin of my heart, I feel numb. Your family asked me to come, tried to make me a part of it... but how can I choose the cold crypt to rest your body in? How can I look at those long wooden boxes... knowing that they will forever bar me from you? What a disgusting mockery of our love for me to choose the last items of clothing to grace your form. Your father didn’t understand. He thought that I was being a coward, if it was his wife I guess he wouldn’t have a problem shoving her in the dirt. Not so for me. Your mother has mercy though and makes the decisions for me. I crawl back into my bed, where I have been all week, and lay there... missing you.
A jump in the memories, and I find myself sitting there with my family, listening to them telling me about it. Apparently your funeral was lovely. How they can think that, when they are sending you off to your eternal rest, I will never understand. My family is trying to convince me to go out, start seeing people. How sick. There will never be another day without you... I am in one endless nightmare. My soul has been ripped into two, the joyous half died with you. I miss you...
Today I’ve been moved back into our... my apartment. This should at least be a somewhat merciful memory, and for a moment my body relaxes from the tension I've been in this whole time. That is until the loneliness begins again. My family is still worried, and old roommate moved in with me, to give me someone to talk to. Or so they say. I watch him move around the house, listlessly make the expected protests when he goes to throw your things out. He’s under orders from the family, remove all traces of you in an attempt to get me focused on living again. But how are they going to remove the hole in my heart? He keeps about his work. It doesn’t matter. You’re gone. You're never going to wear that dress again, or read that book. He can have it all. I've made my decision.
Night falls. And I am here.. this was the spot where we had our picnic on that fateful day. I’ve been sitting here remembering those horrendous weeks for hours now. I could not save you then, but... maybe I can be with you now. A gleam of silver across a blade. The pain is sharp, but short. Already I feel weaker...
Kamis, 28 Agustus 2008
Suicide Dreams
“Suicide,” I say, “is the easy way out.
“No,” she says, “the front door is the easy way out. This is a lot more difficult.”
I hear the wind down the phone I’m speaking to her on and I wonder where she is.
“Suicide is not the answer,” I continue.
“Who’s asking questions?!” she retorts, getting angry.
I’m cradling the phone on my shoulder as I stir the cake mix. Even my sister’s imminent suicide can’t stop cake.
“I think you need to talk to someone,” I say, trying to calm her down.
“Well I’m talking to you right now and all it’s doing it pissing me off,” she shouts, “I don’t think talking is doing a great deal of fucking good right now.”
Not that I’m an expert in suicide intervention, but I figure you need to strike a good bond with the person. Like hypnotists and conmen. Not that there’s much of a distinction between hypnotists and conmen.
I need to build a link, I’m thinking, something she can’t just stop talking about so she can jump off a building. Something more interesting than the unholy departure into what counts as an afterlife these days.
“What’s the weather like up there?” I ask.
She snorts down the phone. “What’re you doing, Suicide Intervention? A crash course in saving the damned? I bet you’re just making it up, aren’t you?”
She’s sharp.
“You’re just fucking bluffing your way,” she says, “into stopping me jumping off this building. I bet you’re watching TV or something.”
“I’m baking a cake,” I say.
“Oh fucking brilliant! Here I am, your only sibling, on the verge of oblivion—“
“You’re at Alton Towers?” I ask jokingly. It didn’t go down well.
“Fuck you! Jesus, I’m gonna be dying here and you’re baking a cake and cracking jokes? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
I begin greasing the cake tin with lard.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I reply calmly, “I’m not the suicidal one in this conversation.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Touché,” she concedes.
She’s still quiet. I decide to press on.
“So what’s bought this on, anyway? Why are you going to end it all on this lovely Saturday?”
“Oh,” she sighs, “there’s a few things. Not that you fucking care.”
I’m tearing the greaseproof paper and lining the cake tin.
“I care,” I said, “you still owe me twenty quid’s worth of petrol money.”
She’s furious. At least I’m driving her away from the edge.
“Hey fuck you, I paid that money back and you know it!”
“Did not!”
“Did!”
“Did not!”
“Did did did!”
And suddenly we’re seven years old again and she’s not on the edge of a building somewhere and I’m not checking the oven temperature.
The moment passes.
“You know why I’m not dead yet?” she says, bringing the conversation back.
“Because I’m such an awesome suicide intervener?”
“It’s because some kids are eating burgers on a bench below me. I don’t know how old they are but I know only kids eat like that.”
She’s thinking of the children.
“Maybe you should go get a burger,” I venture.
“Nice try.”
I give the cake mixture a final few turns with a wooden spoon and take the bowl to the cake tin.
I hear her moving and suddenly it seems a lot less windier. She’s gone inside?
“I’ve not gone inside,” she says, “I’m just having a lie down.”
I start pouring the cake mix into the tin slowly.
“This isn’t a call for help, you know.”
“It is. I read it on a website. You don’t really want to kill yourself.”
“Fuck,” she says, adding darkly, “the internet.”
The cake mix has been poured and I’m spooning the last of it out of the bowl into the tin.
“I went on this website earlier,” she says, “in the library. I just typed suicide into google and this was the first thing that came up. It’s all about stopping me committing suicide. I’m reading this site and then I scroll down and there’s a diagram. A fucking diagram.”
I smooth the cake mix flat in the tin.
“It’s some fucking scales and it says PAIN on one side and COPING RESOURCES on the other side. And the PAIN is outweighing the COPING RESOURCES. It’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Tone down the language, I was once young.”
“Fuck off. So I’m on this page designed to stop me killing myself and it’s giving me this patronising stupid diagram bullshit. Go to the site. Fucking look at it.”
“I will,” I assure her, “if you’re not dead, I will.”
“Shut up, I’m not finished. I go further down the page. There’s a list to some fucking books. They’re selling fucking books on this fucking website.”
“No,” I say with mock drama.
“Shut up! Do you know what they’re called? I’ll fucking tell you. The first one is SUICIDE: THE FOREVER DECISION.”
She laughs bitterly and I can’t help but smile.
“The next is called CHOOSING TO LIVE. That’s not so bad. The third is HOW I STAYED ALIVE WHEN MY BRAIN WAS TRYING TO KILL ME. Can you fucking believe that shit? It’s a fucking joke. It really is. I think the idea is to stop suicide by the sheer hilarity of the website.”
“It’s a novel idea,” I say. Pun intended.
“That was a shit joke,” she says.
I once again concede. She might be considering jumping off a building but the rest of her thought processes are making up for it.
I put the tin in the oven and slam the door shut. I look for the timer about the kitchen, tapping the faux-granite idly.
“Don’t kill yourself,” I say.
“The direct approach!” she exclaims. I hear the wind pick up again.
“I’m looking over the edge,” she says, “and those kids are gone. I could jump right now. I could do it.”
“Don’t,” I say, “they’d probably make me scrape you up.”
“That’s fucking sick,” she replies, getting angry again, “I’m on the fucking edge here and you’re making sick jokes like that. This is serious, you know. This is fucking serious!”
“That all depends on your point of view,” I reply calmly, meaning every word.
“What the fuck no! My suicide is serious!”
“Not really. I mean, everyone has to go sometime. Just some go messier than others.”
“You’re doing it again, you sick fuck!”
“Okay I’m sorry,” I say, adding a few hours to my electronic timer, “but my point still stands. Life is short and in the end, nobody cares. You know what my coping resource is? To push the fucking pain off the scales. I just don’t give a fuck.”
“That’s a pretty shitty attitude,” she says, suddenly sullen.
“My attitude’s working pretty well so far. I’m baking a cake and you’re on the edge of a building.”
She’s quiet. Maybe I got through to her.
“Look, I know you’re having problems. So am I.”
“Like fucking what?!” she shouts.
“Like my sister is going to fucking kill herself!” I shout back.
She shuts up again and I talk quietly.
“But the simple fact is that if you just don’t care about problems, they tend to go away. It’s not me being callous, I still help people and I’m still nice to people.”
She speaks quietly now. I think she’s crying. “Not everyone can think like that.”
“Then,” I say softly, “I guess evolution will see to all the suicidals off and my thought process will survive.”
“Oh for fucks sake,” she says, “this was getting fucking serious. Now look what you’ve fucking done.”
“Jesus, take a chill pill. Just don’t overdose.”
I can’t help but laugh at the joke and I’m sure she laughed too.
“You’re a fucking cunt of a brother,” she says.
I smile to myself and nod as I sit on the work surface.
“Fancy a slice of cake?” I ask.
“If you hurry it’ll still be slightly warm.”
She’s quiet on her end of the line, and there’s only that noise of her blowing her nose. The noise I used to hate so much when we were kids because she was always so loud and it always made such a horrible noise.
Right now, it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Sure,” she says, “I’ll be right over.”
“No,” she says, “the front door is the easy way out. This is a lot more difficult.”
I hear the wind down the phone I’m speaking to her on and I wonder where she is.
“Suicide is not the answer,” I continue.
“Who’s asking questions?!” she retorts, getting angry.
I’m cradling the phone on my shoulder as I stir the cake mix. Even my sister’s imminent suicide can’t stop cake.
“I think you need to talk to someone,” I say, trying to calm her down.
“Well I’m talking to you right now and all it’s doing it pissing me off,” she shouts, “I don’t think talking is doing a great deal of fucking good right now.”
Not that I’m an expert in suicide intervention, but I figure you need to strike a good bond with the person. Like hypnotists and conmen. Not that there’s much of a distinction between hypnotists and conmen.
I need to build a link, I’m thinking, something she can’t just stop talking about so she can jump off a building. Something more interesting than the unholy departure into what counts as an afterlife these days.
“What’s the weather like up there?” I ask.
She snorts down the phone. “What’re you doing, Suicide Intervention? A crash course in saving the damned? I bet you’re just making it up, aren’t you?”
She’s sharp.
“You’re just fucking bluffing your way,” she says, “into stopping me jumping off this building. I bet you’re watching TV or something.”
“I’m baking a cake,” I say.
“Oh fucking brilliant! Here I am, your only sibling, on the verge of oblivion—“
“You’re at Alton Towers?” I ask jokingly. It didn’t go down well.
“Fuck you! Jesus, I’m gonna be dying here and you’re baking a cake and cracking jokes? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
I begin greasing the cake tin with lard.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” I reply calmly, “I’m not the suicidal one in this conversation.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Touché,” she concedes.
She’s still quiet. I decide to press on.
“So what’s bought this on, anyway? Why are you going to end it all on this lovely Saturday?”
“Oh,” she sighs, “there’s a few things. Not that you fucking care.”
I’m tearing the greaseproof paper and lining the cake tin.
“I care,” I said, “you still owe me twenty quid’s worth of petrol money.”
She’s furious. At least I’m driving her away from the edge.
“Hey fuck you, I paid that money back and you know it!”
“Did not!”
“Did!”
“Did not!”
“Did did did!”
And suddenly we’re seven years old again and she’s not on the edge of a building somewhere and I’m not checking the oven temperature.
The moment passes.
“You know why I’m not dead yet?” she says, bringing the conversation back.
“Because I’m such an awesome suicide intervener?”
“It’s because some kids are eating burgers on a bench below me. I don’t know how old they are but I know only kids eat like that.”
She’s thinking of the children.
“Maybe you should go get a burger,” I venture.
“Nice try.”
I give the cake mixture a final few turns with a wooden spoon and take the bowl to the cake tin.
I hear her moving and suddenly it seems a lot less windier. She’s gone inside?
“I’ve not gone inside,” she says, “I’m just having a lie down.”
I start pouring the cake mix into the tin slowly.
“This isn’t a call for help, you know.”
“It is. I read it on a website. You don’t really want to kill yourself.”
“Fuck,” she says, adding darkly, “the internet.”
The cake mix has been poured and I’m spooning the last of it out of the bowl into the tin.
“I went on this website earlier,” she says, “in the library. I just typed suicide into google and this was the first thing that came up. It’s all about stopping me committing suicide. I’m reading this site and then I scroll down and there’s a diagram. A fucking diagram.”
I smooth the cake mix flat in the tin.
“It’s some fucking scales and it says PAIN on one side and COPING RESOURCES on the other side. And the PAIN is outweighing the COPING RESOURCES. It’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Tone down the language, I was once young.”
“Fuck off. So I’m on this page designed to stop me killing myself and it’s giving me this patronising stupid diagram bullshit. Go to the site. Fucking look at it.”
“I will,” I assure her, “if you’re not dead, I will.”
“Shut up, I’m not finished. I go further down the page. There’s a list to some fucking books. They’re selling fucking books on this fucking website.”
“No,” I say with mock drama.
“Shut up! Do you know what they’re called? I’ll fucking tell you. The first one is SUICIDE: THE FOREVER DECISION.”
She laughs bitterly and I can’t help but smile.
“The next is called CHOOSING TO LIVE. That’s not so bad. The third is HOW I STAYED ALIVE WHEN MY BRAIN WAS TRYING TO KILL ME. Can you fucking believe that shit? It’s a fucking joke. It really is. I think the idea is to stop suicide by the sheer hilarity of the website.”
“It’s a novel idea,” I say. Pun intended.
“That was a shit joke,” she says.
I once again concede. She might be considering jumping off a building but the rest of her thought processes are making up for it.
I put the tin in the oven and slam the door shut. I look for the timer about the kitchen, tapping the faux-granite idly.
“Don’t kill yourself,” I say.
“The direct approach!” she exclaims. I hear the wind pick up again.
“I’m looking over the edge,” she says, “and those kids are gone. I could jump right now. I could do it.”
“Don’t,” I say, “they’d probably make me scrape you up.”
“That’s fucking sick,” she replies, getting angry again, “I’m on the fucking edge here and you’re making sick jokes like that. This is serious, you know. This is fucking serious!”
“That all depends on your point of view,” I reply calmly, meaning every word.
“What the fuck no! My suicide is serious!”
“Not really. I mean, everyone has to go sometime. Just some go messier than others.”
“You’re doing it again, you sick fuck!”
“Okay I’m sorry,” I say, adding a few hours to my electronic timer, “but my point still stands. Life is short and in the end, nobody cares. You know what my coping resource is? To push the fucking pain off the scales. I just don’t give a fuck.”
“That’s a pretty shitty attitude,” she says, suddenly sullen.
“My attitude’s working pretty well so far. I’m baking a cake and you’re on the edge of a building.”
She’s quiet. Maybe I got through to her.
“Look, I know you’re having problems. So am I.”
“Like fucking what?!” she shouts.
“Like my sister is going to fucking kill herself!” I shout back.
She shuts up again and I talk quietly.
“But the simple fact is that if you just don’t care about problems, they tend to go away. It’s not me being callous, I still help people and I’m still nice to people.”
She speaks quietly now. I think she’s crying. “Not everyone can think like that.”
“Then,” I say softly, “I guess evolution will see to all the suicidals off and my thought process will survive.”
“Oh for fucks sake,” she says, “this was getting fucking serious. Now look what you’ve fucking done.”
“Jesus, take a chill pill. Just don’t overdose.”
I can’t help but laugh at the joke and I’m sure she laughed too.
“You’re a fucking cunt of a brother,” she says.
I smile to myself and nod as I sit on the work surface.
“Fancy a slice of cake?” I ask.
“If you hurry it’ll still be slightly warm.”
She’s quiet on her end of the line, and there’s only that noise of her blowing her nose. The noise I used to hate so much when we were kids because she was always so loud and it always made such a horrible noise.
Right now, it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard.
“Sure,” she says, “I’ll be right over.”
Selasa, 29 Juli 2008
Surabaya Grunge Community
Awal berdirinya komunitas grunge di Surabaya atau lebih keren dengan sebutan Surabaya Grunge Community (SGC), sekitar pertengahan tahun 1995 di salah satu cafe khusus bertema grunge yang bernama Dewata Cafe yang kemudian berganti menjadi Flowers Cafe. Band - band yang sering tampil di cafe tersebut adalah : Konsleting Kabel, No Body's Perfect, Netto, Kostum, Libido, Aurora, Parkinson, Bubblegum, Noise Bleed, Hebola, Planet, Scooter, Sixteen, No Code, Napkin, 1/2 G, dll. Yang kemudian dengan seiringnya pertemuan dengan para pecinta grunge, akhirnya sepakat menjadikan daerah sekitar cafe tersebut (ruko RMI depan Bank ANK) menjadi tempat kongkow para komunitas grunge di Surabaya. Tapi entah mengapa pada akhirnya sekitar tahun 1997-1998 Flowers Cafe tutup? Alasan tutupnya cafe tersebut sampai sekarang kami belum tau! Dari sekedar kongkow setiap hari sabtu malam, muncul lagi band grunge seperti : Klepto Opera, Stoner Witch, The Jerks, S-Hole, Cannabis, Come As, Beeswax, Dragon Balls, Dog Style, The Raincoat, Good For Nothing, Carbon, Old Fashion Freaks, FYA, Twilight Zone, Noel 7, Pintu, D7, Sundel Bolong, Oyouth, Slow Kid, Marijuana, Djenggoth, Dll. Ide untuk bikin event total grunge pada tahun 1997 di kampus Unesa dengan titel Grunge Wake - Up dengan bintang tamu Bolong dari Jakarta, muncul karena minimnya event grunge di Surabaya pada saat itu. Totalitas musisi grunge pada waktu acara berlanjut hingga berakhirnya acara tersebut sungguh luar biasa. Tahun 1998 event Surabaya Total Grunge kembali berlanjut di kampus Unesa dengan bintang tamu seperti : Demolish Therapist (Solo), Abbatoirnoise (Solo), Wishkah (Malang), Scope Be Doo (Pasuruan), Kereta Senja (Pasuruan), Black Fish (Singosari), seperti event sebelumnya acara berjalan sangat dahsyat dengan berbaurnya para penggila grunge di stage maupun di luar stage! Lagi - lagi acara berjalan luar biasa dengan kerjasama para panitia penyelenggara maupun dengan para band pendukung. Surabaya Grunge Community kembali membuat event pada tahun 2000 dengan titel Unplugged yang terinspirasi para band grunge di luar negeri. Bintang tamu Surabaya Grunge Community Unplugged : Decade X (Hardcore), Cammarads (Hardcore), Plester (Punk), The Silence (Punk), Dll. Acara ini memang gak sedahsyat/seheboh acara-acara sebelumnya, tp respon dari luar komunitas maupun dari dalam komunitas sendiri cukup baik. Dalam waktu yang relatif singkat, muncul banyak lagi band - band baru beraliran grunge seperti : Raja Kadal, Snoisses, Little Son, Freakman, Naked Nancy, Lizard, Mendem Kancoet, Alas Kaki, Uncle Joe, Jam Wek'r, Susu Tanpa Lemak, Insectisida, Mbahman, Otak Udang, Trash, Coma, Pesta Gajah, Grays Harbor, Mother Love Me, The Sessions, Dll. Aktifitas band - band grunge yang lama sudah jarang sekali terdengar, karena sibuk dengan pekerjaan masing - masing. Tapi keberadaan Surabaya Grunge Community tetap eksis digantikan dengan aktifitas yang luar biasa dari band - band seperti diatas tadi.
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