The Beginning of A Long Note

Walter raised his head, dropped his pen, stared from his chair into some empty space. Why this note? Why such a long poem of reasons and justifications, if he was to simply throw it away, to tear himself from the world with a spasm of a trigger finger?

He read back to himself what he had written: elegant, heartful words, he thought. Ornate woodwork on a coffin, decorating a stale and lifeless determination. This is what I want to leave behind me? Walter thought about his life, which could be described in a word as normal. Suffocatingly determined, empty and slavish. Homeschoolcollegecareer, in their proper order: what for?

Sounds echoed in his ears: sobs, heeled footfalls,  slamming door. The impetus of his murderous, self-murderous decision had faded into the background of his thoughts. Walter knew his wife (ex-wife?) wasn’t the reason he wanted to die. Rather, she was a compelling argument against death; now gone, Walter stared into the abysmal vacuum in his life which was once her place in it. His first inclination was to surrender to this abyss, to throw himself into it and let it swallow him up: freedom, blessed freedom!

As he set about translating his fateful desires to words, though, he could feel the disequalibrium within himself. Some small neglected voice, a malnourished child in his soul was asking to be heard. At first this child was polite but progressively she became more urgent, maturing as necessaity demanded it to.

You’ve ignored me for an entire lifetime, and now you’ll end that life without once doing things my way. What have I ever done to deserve such indifference? Now you will listen, I won’t give you any choice but to consider me this time. These other souls of yours, the ones which have failed you now, they could never bring you happiness or fullness or completion. When did you stop wanting to blaze trails? You’ve done things the right way, you’ve done things the way you’re supposed to: what has that brought you? Emptiness and despair. The voices in your spirit which told you to follow, to obey, they will only help you to survive. I’m the voice who will help you to live.

You want to die? Do it right: live dangerously. The deepest passions of your heart, the brilliant ones and the dark ones upon which the brilliant ones rest: express them, chase after them, let them guide you. What are you afraid of? Not death, certainly not, considering what you were about to do. Disapproval? But what does that matter to one free of fear? Or have you been trying to avoid pain? Yes, life is painful, that I will admit. And the problem of pain, of suffering, not only your suffering but everyone’s, is something you’ll spend your whole life struggling with. Don’t let it keep you from your dreams! Don’t let fear smother you!

But enough, I know I’ve convinced you already. The pen has fallen from your hands, you’ve turned your eyes to the sky. Throw the note away- and live your life so that it needs no explaining. Live your life like a long suicide note, a light and happy one, with long sentences of struggle punctuated by awful heartbreak and ecstatic bliss. And don’t write it alone, write it in the open for everyone to see. Write it with people who love you. And cherish it… cherish it, because everything that’s ever written is written on sand.