this is the unasked question
Sep. 25th, 2013 01:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bitchy_merlinthis is the unasked question. we always come back here, don't we? this same place, four walls, one room. i am in you; there is no escaping me. you can lose me for a while (in a mug of coffee, a sunny day, a friend's smile) but the track marks on your wrists call to me and your thighs are red where i have tasted your flesh.
i will taste more flesh before this is through, and more than that besides.
you know why i'm here. you know what i want from you. you know what i will ask you to do.
don't lie; i know you can see it, can feel it, can all but taste it. the dark night, early to mid-october, is cold, silent. the sky is black; there may be clouds streaking the darkness like stars, but that is of no consequence. the night is cold and you are on your bike, riding. you are riding altherion for the last time. you are doing a lot of things for the last time. like breathing.
the night air is frigid, chill against your skin as you ride to the docks. you know the route you'll take: down Sir John A. to Front Street. Make a right in front of the Penitentiary, down a short hill, one more left and you're there. Dismount and cut across the lawn to the start of the bike trail. there's a rocky beach there. you'll gather the rocks by hand, shoving them into your backpack. it will be heavy. good. this will mean less work later on, and a higher chance of success. you have nothing to light your way as you walk to the edge of the dock, where the long cement prong shoots out into the water. you don't need light. this will all end, one way or another.
the night is cold, and the wind whips your cheeks enough to almost feel like tears. you still can't cry. the meds have done their work. you probably took yours today, even. look at all the good it's doing you. you push altherion to the side and lock him to a railing (and you repeat that mantra in your head for the last time: front wheel, chain, solid object). keep the keys in your backpack. it doesn't matter now. surely that must feel freeing.
you walk over to the edge of the dock, concrete abruptly terminating in a steep plunge into icy blackness. you duck under the railing, wiping your hands of the peeling yellow paint - there's no point to it, but old habits die hard. you're sitting on the edge of the dock, looking into the water. the night is cold and you're alone.
you're absolutely terrified. your heart is hammering in your chest, your breath comes short and your palms are sweaty and your mind - your very being - quails at the thought of what you're about to do. ugly panic rises in your chest and you think for a moment do i really want this? you think of all the regrets you will have, of all the loved ones you will leave.
don't. don't think of them. you won't remember them when you're dead anyway. soon. soon it will be over. soon, you will never have to worry about waking up again. you will never have to worry about money, jobs, assignments, grad school, awkward conversations, selfish behaviours, a thousand different ways in which you are a failure. you will never have to worry about letting anyone - about letting yourself - down. you will never again have to be fat. you will never have to worry about the pointlessness of your existence. you will never have to worry about being alone. there's no such thing as loneliness in death.
think about that.
think about that as you let go of the railing, your mind in the hesitant place between the decision and the act. when you fall, you can't decide if you jumped or if you were pushed; but you hit the water and it doesn't matter. the icy shock is brutal and unforgiving. it tears through your skin, leeching the heat from your bones faster than you can adjust. you're submerged, holding your breath, and your first instinct is to kick up, to reach for the surface. but no. you must not do that. you must sink, you must drown. you let yourself fall, slowly, counting the seconds until the inevitable comes - the ineffable gasp for breath. you have never tried to breathe underwater before; your lungs and head are pounding; you're choking and your heart feels like it's seizing up; you are terrified and in pain and for a blindingly, agonizingly long moment, you regret your suicide.
and then your lungs can take it no more and you gasp for air - and breathe water instead. it fills your lungs, painful, burning, and your legs are thrashing, trying to get you to the surface. be grateful for the backpack weighing you down despite this. you gasp and flail and choke and gasp some more... and you drown. your lungs fill with water and your body stops struggling, at last, at last. there is nothing left to fight. it's finally okay. you don't need to hate yourself anymore. you inhale and drown, and there is a strange peace to this. be satisfied with a job well done.
you lose consciousness and for once you don't have to worry about waking up.
i will taste more flesh before this is through, and more than that besides.
you know why i'm here. you know what i want from you. you know what i will ask you to do.
don't lie; i know you can see it, can feel it, can all but taste it. the dark night, early to mid-october, is cold, silent. the sky is black; there may be clouds streaking the darkness like stars, but that is of no consequence. the night is cold and you are on your bike, riding. you are riding altherion for the last time. you are doing a lot of things for the last time. like breathing.
the night air is frigid, chill against your skin as you ride to the docks. you know the route you'll take: down Sir John A. to Front Street. Make a right in front of the Penitentiary, down a short hill, one more left and you're there. Dismount and cut across the lawn to the start of the bike trail. there's a rocky beach there. you'll gather the rocks by hand, shoving them into your backpack. it will be heavy. good. this will mean less work later on, and a higher chance of success. you have nothing to light your way as you walk to the edge of the dock, where the long cement prong shoots out into the water. you don't need light. this will all end, one way or another.
the night is cold, and the wind whips your cheeks enough to almost feel like tears. you still can't cry. the meds have done their work. you probably took yours today, even. look at all the good it's doing you. you push altherion to the side and lock him to a railing (and you repeat that mantra in your head for the last time: front wheel, chain, solid object). keep the keys in your backpack. it doesn't matter now. surely that must feel freeing.
you walk over to the edge of the dock, concrete abruptly terminating in a steep plunge into icy blackness. you duck under the railing, wiping your hands of the peeling yellow paint - there's no point to it, but old habits die hard. you're sitting on the edge of the dock, looking into the water. the night is cold and you're alone.
you're absolutely terrified. your heart is hammering in your chest, your breath comes short and your palms are sweaty and your mind - your very being - quails at the thought of what you're about to do. ugly panic rises in your chest and you think for a moment do i really want this? you think of all the regrets you will have, of all the loved ones you will leave.
don't. don't think of them. you won't remember them when you're dead anyway. soon. soon it will be over. soon, you will never have to worry about waking up again. you will never have to worry about money, jobs, assignments, grad school, awkward conversations, selfish behaviours, a thousand different ways in which you are a failure. you will never have to worry about letting anyone - about letting yourself - down. you will never again have to be fat. you will never have to worry about the pointlessness of your existence. you will never have to worry about being alone. there's no such thing as loneliness in death.
think about that.
think about that as you let go of the railing, your mind in the hesitant place between the decision and the act. when you fall, you can't decide if you jumped or if you were pushed; but you hit the water and it doesn't matter. the icy shock is brutal and unforgiving. it tears through your skin, leeching the heat from your bones faster than you can adjust. you're submerged, holding your breath, and your first instinct is to kick up, to reach for the surface. but no. you must not do that. you must sink, you must drown. you let yourself fall, slowly, counting the seconds until the inevitable comes - the ineffable gasp for breath. you have never tried to breathe underwater before; your lungs and head are pounding; you're choking and your heart feels like it's seizing up; you are terrified and in pain and for a blindingly, agonizingly long moment, you regret your suicide.
and then your lungs can take it no more and you gasp for air - and breathe water instead. it fills your lungs, painful, burning, and your legs are thrashing, trying to get you to the surface. be grateful for the backpack weighing you down despite this. you gasp and flail and choke and gasp some more... and you drown. your lungs fill with water and your body stops struggling, at last, at last. there is nothing left to fight. it's finally okay. you don't need to hate yourself anymore. you inhale and drown, and there is a strange peace to this. be satisfied with a job well done.
you lose consciousness and for once you don't have to worry about waking up.
