Mercy Killing

When does a person break down completely?  When do they finally do what’s best for others, though they’re terrified to do it?

When does a person just admit that they’d be better off alone and away from everything rather than put people through the hell they put them through?  When does a person just admit that they’d be better off dead?

I laugh every time I come to a question about whether I’ve ever contemplated suicide, because I always say "no."  And while a piece of me believes that’s the truth, I know that just because I’m too scared of death isn’t really a good enough answer for never considering it.

I’m thinking about it now, not really thinking about killing myself….but thinking about what that option entails…what it offers…what it means. 

I’ve always been one of the few who has sympathized with those who kill themselves.  I’ve always watched them with a sad understanding, a sort of heart broken adoration that they were so strong as to look at the world, think that they weren’t a good enough part for it, and took themselves out of it.  Because eventually you got to admit that either you’re too broken to be fixed or that you’re just not worth the world’s time.

I think about death often.  I think about walking out in front of a car and getting hit and just feeling whether I feel relief at it.  I wonder if I’d survive with so little will.

I’m not drunk or tired, I just have a headache and I feel the familiar ache of my soul, the same ache I feel every day.  I know I’m not better off alone, but I know I’m not good for anyone, either.  I don’t think Kate ever understood that the reason I cut her off was because I needed her so much and talking to her all the time only reminded me of what I didn’t have.  I don’t think she ever understood that my only options were to either have her or not have her at all, so that I could do something else to occupy my mind.  I don’t think she knew so much because I couldn’t say it…..

And it’s all my fault.  It’s all my fault for everything, because even when someone else does something wrong, the feelings that rise out of me are dark and broken feelings from a shattered place that I can’t suppress.  I shouldn’t even write this, but I’m doing it anyway.  I’m doing it because at this moment in time, it’s not going to change a god damn thing except make me feel a little bit better for an hour, and right now, that’s a merciful thing.