Joy

 

I have the capacity for joy

but not the confidence to embrace it.

 

Happiness

You can't rekindle happiness. You can only remember it.

Suicide

Suicide will be my greatest accomplishment. The only feat I'll be remembered for. My courage, my planning will be a surprise. No one will suspect. l'll win. Those are the thoughts, tantalizing, seductive, relentless, that give me purpose, an attainable goal. It's all I have to hold onto while I delay, living out the days and numbers that count plus one, slowly plodding again and again. Each day ending with the same prayer: that I sleep the endless sleep that my last breath leaves me mid dream and I die beneath the covers.

Smile

Give them the best of you. Let them see you smile. while inside your orbit continues to decay.

Kind or cruel?

I like to think of myself as kind and empathetic but deep down I know  I'm the exact opposite: cruel and selfish. That is what the thoughts do. It's a constant fight over the very core of my being, over who I really am.

I am divided

I am divided whether I want to get better or not. There is a sense of satisfaction in surprising my pdoc with a successful suicide. It's a sense of power, of freedom, free will, defiance. It would be my most intimate creation, my ultimate accomplishment. But then I remember how far I have come all the tears I have shed. Sure, they gave me the drugs but it was me who stood on my own who reached out for help. They can be smug if they want but I know the truth. I've done all the heavy lifting I deserve all the credit I can be so much more if only I had confidence. I just don't know where I stand Do I continue to climb with a blind faith it will all get better or do I create and succeed entirely on my own terms?

Time is harvested

 

I sat down today to write something positive. My mind idles. The words don't come. If I'm happy do I lose who I am? I've lived with suicide my whole life. I'm still certain it will be my end  but I can still smile and laugh through the last days, without guilt or regret. I can still live until the moment is ripe and time is harvested.

The Five

 

Who are the five that silently stalk this blog? They never comment. They never share. They never like. I know one is a friend but the other four - are they just automated pings, views that were never seen?  Or is there someone out there who is truly interested?

Passive Suicide

 

Every night I complete passive suicide: I ignore the symptoms and pray for death.

Happiest days

 

I already know the happiest days of my life.

I have been calm of late

I have been calm of late. My anxiety is the lowest it's been in years And when it does flare up  CBT can quickly check it. I still wish to die in my sleep every night but I don't wake up defeated. I'm disappointed with my weight but I'm committed to eating well It's not a failure or a setback. It just is and I'll bring it down. I've done it in the past I can do it again. My creativity has been focused on  one more revision. I'm not procrastinating I'm improving. I can feel creative momentum  I'm confident I can grab hold. I'm ready.

Safe spot

I am in a dark place, but in a safe spot.

Helium

I am not suicidal but I can't stop rehearsing my death. Hypercapnia burns my lungs. Panic forces me to step back. Helium is the answer. I float over the barrier  and drift off to sleep  tricking my body  of its need to breath.

Hello. My name is...

 

I work part time in the produce section of my local grocery store. While some days are very hectic, such as the day before a long weekend, there are often long stretches when your mind is just left to ponder.  Nothing earth shattering, just "I wonder".

Here's how one chain of thought went. At work I am required to wear a name tag.  It is the size of a debit card, bright white with my first name printed in black ink, font size 40 Arial.  It is very visible and eliminates any chance for anonymity.  I have worked there a year and it still startles me when a complete stranger addresses me by name.  

The name tag however changes when you're in management. The higher you're up the management chain, the more discreet your name tag is. The overall size is smaller, the color is brushed gold, the letter font size 12. It even includes a last name. A customer has to look carefully and be relatively close - COVID safe distance - to read it.  They can't just look over from the banana aisle and call out your name as you stand beside the Courtland apples. The big big boss doesn't have a name tag at all.  He alone has the power to decide where and when to share his own name. 

I realize that this observation is hardly earth shattering and probably not worthy of being posted to the world wide web but hey, at least I have beaten my depression laced writer's block for a few minutes and strung together some sentences. My grand conclusion is that the lower your pay grade, the less privacy and identity you are afforded. 

Of course, it's probably has less to do with Capitalism and more to do with your level of interaction with the customers that dictates your font size.  To share your name is to be friendly. You want the customer to feel at ease when they ask you where the cherries are and demand to know why they're not yet available from Canada.     

    

We can and we will

 

I am disappointed in Canada. The residential school revelations. The Muslim attack in London.  I am proud of Canada. Finally taking the First Nation challenges more seriously. Marching 10,000 strong in solidarity against hatred.  We can do better and we will.

For today

I set a goal for today to post something to this blog.  I'm not sure what to write about.  I'm very much nomo.  If only I could tap into my creativity, be a spark, not a flame, I could inspire myself to write more. It's so hard not to be discouraged. And COVID doesn't help.  At least I managed to write something today. 

Crickets, Flies and Wasps

The deadline has come and gone. April is over. And all I am left with is crickets.  I submitted a short story to a group publishing a book on the COVID pandemic as experienced in Burlington, Ontario. Considering I was competing against only fellow Burlingtonians, I rather arrogantly thought my submission would be successful. Instead I was rejected by crickets. 

There is something particularly disappointing about not receiving some sort of confirmation from agents and publishers that they are not interested.  You are never sure how long you should hold out before accepting their apparent rejection of your work.  They always give you a drop dead date such the end of the month and in 8 weeks but if you feel hopeful you tell yourself to wait just a bit longer. With crickets when you finally accept your rejection, your mind fills in the spaces.  It decides how horrible your submission was and makes up everything that was wrong with it and then believes even worse.

I understand that there are many submissions, rather an enormous number of submissions, and I understand that being short staffed makes it impossible to respond to each one individually. If agents or publishers do respond it is generally a short automated reply with cut and paste personalisation features. They are like flies, numerous and harmless.

For example:

I'm sorry, but your project does not sound like a fit for me at this time, and so I will have to pass. Thank you for considering me and best of luck with your future queries.

or

Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to consider your project. I carefully read and consider each submission I receive, and I’m sorry to say that yours is not quite right for me.


Agenting is subjective, and while I couldn’t take on your project, another agent may well feel differently. I wish you the very best of luck with your work in the future and thank you for thinking of me.

 

 or

 

Thanks so much for sharing ELAGABALUS with me. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm the right agent for this project, so I will have to pass.

Please keep in mind that this is a subjective business and mine is only one opinion. I wish you all the best in your search for representation and in your writing career.

 

 or

 

Thank you for your email and for your interest in this agency. I am sorry to say that this is not the kind of book we are looking for at the moment.

Good luck with finding a suitable home for your work elsewhere.

 

All of these responses indicate their decision was made fairly quickly. They read the query and decided it was not for them. Just like looking for a novel in a bookstore, they've quickly looked at the title, the book cover or the tag line and have decided to move on to another shelf. When agents send back a short reply, it is disappointing but I'm fine with it.

The worst, even worse than the crickets, are the wasps. Those are the rejections that make you feel like you actually had a chance but that your writing failed you.

Thank you for sending me your query for OBLIVION. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I must pass on this project; I wasn’t as pulled in by the opening pages as I'd hoped.

Ouch! "as I had hoped" - that one stung, just as this one did:

 

I spent some time thinking about the potential of your story and my own expertise in relation to a potential partnership. I read each query with my own list in mind and specific genres I have a need for, and at this moment, I truly believe I am not the right agent for this project at this time. I am currently looking for a few specific stories, and this one isn't quite what I know I can take on right now.

Using the bookstore analogy again - it was as if she had picked up the book and read the back cover and a few pages before putting it back on the shelf. I had piqued her interest but my writing did not deliver.

It is challenging to continue to believe in yourself and your work. Getting published is an up hill battle. On days when I am feeling positive I send out queries and hope for the best.  On those when I am feeling down, I shy away and hide my work and listen to the crickets. 

Octopus's Garden

A simple song. A basic ukulele cover.  Wishful lyrics about an escape from it all.  Yes, I too would like to go and live in an Octopus's garden.

The original is just as inviting.

Another Octopus song.  This one is also an escape, but this time it's an escape back to my past, and those carefree moments I spent with my young children. I will never forget the smiles we shared.

Even the instrumental is relaxing.

Octopuses (I always thought it was Octopi) themselves are fascinating creatures. Three hearts, blue blood, intelligent, cellular suicide after laying eggs - what's not to love?

COVID-19

COVID would make it so much easier for those left behind.

Who's on your playlist?

When I am in the midst of a downward spiral it is not so easy to remember what is important. One strategy I use is to make playlists for each of my children. They are a work in progress over days and months and years. 

When I hear a song that evokes a memory I add it to their list. More often than not the actual lyrics have nothing to do with the memory connected to it. Instead it was whatever was happening at the time.

My son's playlist includes everything from the Wiggles (Hot Potato) to Frank Sinatra (New York, New York). One reminds me of the live Wiggles concert we went to together at Roger's Centre and the other of New Year's eve in front of the TV. 

On my daughter's playlist Coleman Hell (Fireproof) recalls when the two of us hid from a torrential downpour in Ottawa, giggling at getting under cover just in time. Also included on her list is the song Attention by Charlie Puth. We always laugh and sing along to the misheard lyrics "You've been running 'round, running 'round, running 'round, throwing that turtle on my name." 

I rarely listen to the playlists all the way through. In fact I hardly even listen to the songs. Instead I scroll down and review the memories, letting each one flourish inside me.  If I do listen to one of the songs or hear it on the radio, I shut my eyes and float suspended in the moment, mindful of how the memory makes me feel: relaxed, content, complete.

 

When I am in crisis does this strategy cancel my suicidal thoughts? Not really but it does blunt the edge and oftentimes that is all I need.

A version of the article has been published on The Mighty.