My Suicide

I was dying a slow and painful death. Over several years everything I loved to do was taken from me. I could no longer read books because of my failing vision. Writing had been my life passion and that had become so difficult to do. Just holding the pen for more than a few minutes caused great pain. The splints on my wrists made the keyboard such a chore and I could hardly read what I wrote on the screen. Twenty one different medications every day, in all I had eight different doctors for my care. Daily life consisted on pain patches, swallowing pills, an appt with one of the many doctors who seem to offer nothing more than new ways to pacify me in to believing stable living may one day be achieved with new modern discoveries. I could no longer work unless you call walking from room to room a job worth speaking about. To you that may sound lame, but to me it was a daily achievement. Sometimes just getting out of the bed was the greatest goal of the day. My children had been watching for several years as I slipped from the vibrant, can’t stop me, ever happy woman and mother into this old, slow moving trying to smile through the pain and disappointment that my body had betrayed me with. The hospital was becoming my new and second home. I was never one to give up on anything without the greatest fight I could offer, yet I found myself tired of fighting… tired of the pain… of the defeat and betrayal. I realized my time was becoming limited and began to prepare for the obvious. It had been a hard life since early childhood and I only hoped that the next one would be kinder. I couldn’t imagine what lesson I was here to learn and had not already learned years ago. Come on, one can endure only so much hurt, abuse, and neglect before finally learning the lesson. I had survived youthful rape, beatings, neglect to a great magnitude, incest, abandonment, teenage rape, an abusive spouse and so much more I need not mention here. Yet after more than 30 years it seemed fate had no plans of offering me the reward for survival. I was a mother, a college graduate, a writer, an artist, a teacher, a lover, a friend, a Christian, a fighter for others needs long before my own… and more. I had lived through tragedy after tragedy, abuse in so many different forms, and yet no matter what awful thing life threw my way I always managed to push forward and find the smile, love my children and seek out better ways to live. Then my body failed me with an astounding number of illnesses. My medical file is bigger than the list of crimes Al Copone committed. Systemic Lupus, Fibro Myalgia, Meniers disease, Borderline Leukemia, angina, asthma, and much more. The lupus had effected several organs, one which I lost, and had moved to my neurological system. I was lost and running out of fight. Right about the time when I had nearly resigned myself to dying I once again found my stubborn streak. I was not going to die on my illnesses terms. If I were to die it was going to be on my terms. As bad as life had been to me I always was glad to be alive. I sought out the good where ever I could find it, if only in a single ray of sun shining down upon my face on a spring day alone in my own back yard. I had been fighting all my life, but I was tired now… truly tired. Death was the only way out… this was as clear as water. I thought things through, made my plans said goodbye to so many things and without telling a soul I would commit suicide. I will do what any person might do when they come to the point in their life and realize that sometimes death is the only way to live. My suicide would not be as quick an act as one might think, however in the end, through all the courage I will gather; it will be glorious. I will give my will over and finally, tragically yet rightfully Kimberly ***** **** will be laid to rest without a fight, without a second thought, without a letter to explain. I told no-one. Just a long sigh and a last look at my struggling life and the darkness would come and put an end to a woman who only wanted to live, but never could find her rainbow. I wrote a poem some time ago called “The Fog” and my last thoughts will be the last line in that poem, “I finally beat the fucking fog”. Thanks for listening. Someone else will finish this story soon.