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Every suicide attempt made me stronger

by thepoet1 on January 11, 2012   |  FacebooktwitterTumblr

The first time I tried to turn out my own lights was at the age of 10. At my current age, the attempts over the years have reached triple digits. The rifle misfired. The rope broke. The immature and unknowing me cut the wrong way or not deep enough to leak the life out of me fast enough. The garage must have had a draft, I couldn't even get the gassing myself to sleep bit right. The pharmaceuticals must have been made by morons, they didn't work in the large quantities I consumed. Throwing myself off a building into traffic didn't quite work out since the canopy that was supposed to rip on impact only sprang me sideways into a open window. What kind of dumb luck was that?
Today I can look back at the many attempts and remember each one crystal clear. From watching my face turn purple in the mirror with a rope around my neck to stopping short by mere seconds of quick exiting...."Hmmmmm." That is all I used to say after each attempt did not work. After the statment came the question; "What is really out there waiting for me since I obviously cannot erase myself?"
The last attempt brought the time span to three decades of dire dumbness. Thirty three years of growing stronger from letting the dark hole of doom and gloom swallow me hole. Somehow I found a ladder. Somehow, someone, somewhere made a very deep hole and a very tall ladder as I am still climbing, still trying with small amounts of success, to get to the top and off this ladder. Just getting stronger....and hoping to not lose my grip on this ladder and fall down again.


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