It certainly wasn’t all bad, not all doom and gloom and woe is me. It was objectively actually kind of fascinating, a little like running a marathon. Finding out how far past the limits [s]he could go, finding out just how much pain s[he] could take.

Horrors and nightmares harrowed [he]r mind, dread gripped [he]r heart relentlessly and fear gnawed remorselessly at [he]r soul. Greedily gobbling it up whole.

PTSD was a real bastard and no mistake. And [s]he was way past the edge now.

[S]he found [her] jugular vein with [he]r index finger, locating where s[he] thought it was nearest the surface. And holding the box cutter firmly, [s]he braced [he]rself for the final cut.

But the moment of desperation was gone now, [he]r heart just wasn’t in it anymore. And putting the cutter down, [s]he valiantly tried yet again to get some sleep.

It was incredible. S[he] was so full to the gills with sedatives, [s]he felt like [s]he might rattle like a maraca if [s]he tried to dance. But still, sleep was an impossible dream.

And the thought of dancing and rattling like a maraca made [he]r smile. If only [he]r legs weren’t so wonky from the meds, s[he] felt like [s]he might like to try.

‘Suicide.’ [S]he thought to [he]rself. ‘What a dick move, what a cunt act, what a despicable stunt.’

‘Think of the one who’d find the grisly mess, the one who’d have to deal with it, who’d have to clean it up. As if it’s not hard enough on them just living with your mental bitch crap. On top of having to live their own nightmare too. And doing so a hell of a lot better than you, by the way.’

‘But to do that to them too. Christ on a bike. Just how much of a gaping arsehole are you?’

It was just as well the gun laws where s[he] lived were tight as a drum, otherwise it would have been over years ago. And [s]he felt a little guilty that the thought that this could have ended long before now made [he]r feel warm and fuzzy.

[S]he wished someone would come and hold [he]r tight, help [he]r feel like everything would be alright.

But no one came. And s[he] just didn’t have the wherewithal to get off [he]r bony arse and get it [he]rself.

So, s[he] just made a smiley face instead.

 

11 thoughts on “Make a Smiley Face

  1. oy…if i owned a gun, i wouldn’t be here anymore. the thing that always slows me down is trying to figure out how to do it right (no half-assed survival) & make sure not to leave a mess…& make sure the right person finds me….
    it gets so complicated.
    staying alive just ends up being the easy answer.
    you expressed it beautifully ❤
    (& i will hug you & let you know everything will be alright)

    Liked by 2 people

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.