Here’s my suicide attempt:
I’m lying in bed, depressed, feeling useless, life a burden, this thinking exacerbated by a terrible cold. I’m suffocating on snot, every breath a struggle. If I want to die, why am I struggling to live? I know, I say to myself. I’ll stop struggling. Let nature take its course.
Since my nose was completely blocked, closing my mouth would finish me off. Keeping my mouth closed would be the last effort I’d expend. If my body agreed with my exhausted mind, I’d die.
Kent hated this story, I suppose because he hated me talking about killing myself. But I found it amusing. Nobody dies from holding their breath. That’s not a thing.
After 60 seconds I’d gasp, I knew. That’s what the body does. Reflexes take over. But at least I would get a break from fretting over how to breathe. My autonomous nervous system would take charge. I didn’t need to choose life.
But my body surprised me in a different way. As I now struggled to keep my mouth shut, something changed in the nasal passages. An odd twinge, a sensation I’d never felt before. A gap gradually opened through the mucus barrier. Instead of allowing me to stifle, my nose, which had seemed my enemy, brought me breath again.
In the many years since when my sinuses have been blocked, I have used this skill taught me by suicide attempt. I hold my breath, a passage opens.
1 comment:
I've made no secret of the fact I've suffered from depression all my life. It's cost me wives and friends and jobs. But never once, not once, have I even hemi-demi-semi-seriously considered suicide as an option. I've often wondered why not and I've decided the only answer is curiosity. Even at my very worst my curiosity stands aside with a notepad scribbling away.
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