It’s hard to determine the right tone for a suicide blog. Dark, melancholy, and indulgent? Uplifting, positive, and encouraging? In the end I decided to write what I would want to read: the truth. From a genuine voice. Nothing fake, nothing that shoves the topic under the rug because it’s too touchy for some. Simply the truth. And if my sarcastic brand of dark humor alienates anyone, that’s unfortunate, but fortunately alienating people is something I’m accustomed to. If you’ve lost the ability to see the humor in the dark side of life, tell Netflix to keep all the seasons of “Six Feet Under” coming.
It’s a funny thing about the truth: it really sucks sometimes. Life is painful. Some of us get a vase overflowing with dead flowers instead of a box of chocolates. Rather than, “Welcome to the world; we’re glad you’re here,” our cards read “You’re not wanted; why don’t you go back to where you came from.” Often that doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.
Sooo…what of truth? It’s something you tell. Something you face. Something you can run from but never quite escape. Believe me, I’ve been trying for the past couple of years. Denial, full-speed ahead. Keeping all the secrets that go along with suicide is a heavy task. For the first time in my life, I’ve had to keep up with all the lies I had been telling to everyone I know. No one was exempt. Not even me; after all, don’t you have to lie to yourself most of all? Pretend that it’s not going to ruin lives all around you, pretend not to know that some people will never be the same?
What OF the truth….DOES it set you free? I recently spilled my guts to my dad after Thanksgiving. Just what every father wants to hear; his daughter has been plotting her own death, down to the last letter. I left out some of the gruesome details; no mention of my research into drug combinations and dosages seemed pertinent. And is it really necessary to disclose to loved ones that you called around to price dry ice so that your body would be preserved enough for a green burial? And besides, how much truth is too much? As for me, I can’t seem to get enough of it. Others go through life pulling the wool over their own eyes. But we’ll talk more about my mom later.
As for whether the truth will set ME free, it’s too soon to tell. All I can do is report on my progress. It’s only been a month, and some days the realities of facing life again are so overwhelming that I crave the denial I so carelessly tossed aside with the truth. I threw away my coping mechanism, and life is harsh.