Jump to content
  • entries
    31
  • comments
    669
  • views
    6,685

Doors

Mikiesboy

156 views

******* WARNING ******* Do not read if you are offended or triggered by references to suicide.

 

I know I am dreaming as I lay in this fog. Sounds fade in and out, echoing as I drift away to other places and lands.

I know also time is fleeting and there is very little future ahead of me. This I know to be true. Some truths are self-evident. This is one of those truths. We can deny it, pretend otherwise, wish, rail, scream and beg, but time does not wait. It marches forward and we can think we slow it, but that’s a fool’s errand.

Life. We say each is worth living. But is that a truth?

No. For many it is not. For too many, life is a slog, a drag to live in poverty and misery. Or if not, perhaps in the hell only mental illness can make. It can be a place of such horror and pain, suicide is a welcoming door.

That door has tempted me in the past and still does today. Doctors offer treatment in the form of pills and talk. Often it works for short periods. But lately … lately the pull of that door has become stronger. Lately, I’ve found my hand upon the doorknob. The desire to turn it and step over the threshold is strong and getting stronger.

I don’t feel this always. There are times when life is good. Where I see worth in the day and in others. There are projects to finish and to start.  But I wonder why?

Why do this? What does it matter? The sands of time will cover all and my time here will mean nothing. Sooner than later there will be nothing left of me and those who knew me will disappear also.

And yet we strive. I can only suppose it keeps us from thinking about what is to come.

 

While I appreciate you deciding to read this, but there is no need to comment on it.

  • Love 5
  • Sad 5


7 Comments


Recommended Comments

tim, 

Everyday struggles touch each one of us. I've seen my own son with his hand on the same door knob that you speak of. I can only hope that both you and he will see that what lays beyond the door might not be the solution. 

@Reader1810 is right, you enrich our lives and thank you for that. I sincerely hope that both you and my son will never turn that door knob. 

  • Love 4

Share this comment


Link to comment
32 minutes ago, MichaelS36 said:

@Reader1810 @kbois @Parker Owens @chris191070

tim is working with his doctor. We were there today. This is very difficult and I am hoping that door will remain firmly closed for a long time.  Thank you for all your good wishes and thoughts. Thank you as well for your support and friendship. It means much to us both. 

Support and friendship: you both make that very easy to give.

Take care, Mike as you take care of tim. 

  • Love 4

Share this comment


Link to comment

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
  • Similar Content

    • By northie
      Death
      As a child you had always hoped to grow plants and flowers, but no matter what you did they died. Today you were brought to the main education center to be tested for your natural talent. As you walk you hear people being told they are heroes, muses, a god of the forests, and even demigods. You test quickly before you are even mentally prepared you’re informed of your new career. Congratulations on being chosen as an Angel of Death. What’s your next step?
    • By Thorn Wilde
      I always end up feeling a little bit on the outside. It's nobody's fault but my own. I don't do well in large groups. I used to be the one who just sat in the corner. I'm better now, I can talk to people and partake in group activities, but I invariably keep everyone a little bit at arm's length. Not that I don't share or discuss, I'm quite open most of the time, just that I keep me, the person I am on the inside, the quirks of my personality, a little bit on the inside. So I keep my distance, emotionally, to everyone but maybe one or two people whom I end up clinging to for dear life. And I always find myself disappointed when it turns out that I'm not as important to them as they are to me, because they have other people in the group, while I don't.
       
      Thing is, it always feels, at first, like I've come into a group that's perfect and lovely and where I get along with everyone and everyone's so nice to me and we all love each other. Which is true, as far as it goes. But then some people get to know each other better, and they break off into smaller groups that sometimes overlap, and I just... don't. I stay mostly on the outside, and occasionally I grab hold of a person in one of the groups and drag them out to play with me for a bit, before they wander back into their pack again and I end up wondering, what did I do wrong? Why aren't I part of a pack? When did these groups form, and where was I?
       
      Then the bad thoughts come. Maybe they just don't want me to be part of their packs? Maybe they were just pretending, and I don't really belong here and when they're nice to me they're just being, well, nice? Nobody really likes me, they all just pretend so they won't hurt my feelings, and when I leave a room they're happy I'm gone because I was so annoying.
       
      I wonder what they say about me when I'm not there. I wonder if they say anything at all.
       
      Then I become sad and depressed, I spend more time away from the groups, more time inside myself, digging a hole, trying to figure out where I went wrong, thinking there must be something terribly wrong with me that makes it so people don't like me, even though, rationally, I already know, the answer's right in front of me, clear as day.
       
      I should have been there more.
       
      But I'm an introvert. That's not the same as shy. I used to be shy. I'm not really shy anymore. Maybe sometimes, a bit, in the beginning, but I get over it quickly. I don't feel anxious about being in the same room with other people, or about getting to know new people or talking to them or anything. In fact, give me a glass of wine and some good background music and nobody would believe I was ever crippled by social anxiety.
       
      I'm just an introvert. Which means that when I've spent some time with people I feel really tired and exhausted and want to be somewhere else for a while. I prefer smaller groups, conversation to raucous partying, nights in with a few friends to nights out with lots of them. So, I leave early. I go home, make a cup of tea, watch a movie or do some reading or writing or play the guitar for a bit. On-my-own activities. I even like it when Magpie works night shifts sometimes, because it means that I can have some just-me time where I don't have to pay too much attention to the needs of anyone else. I'm also very empathetic, so being near other people can be very exhausting because I constantly have to care so much. It's in my nature.
       
      And that's why I never belong. Because I'm there for a bit and then I sign off, and when I get back things have changed, people have formed packs, groups, clans, families and I'm left wanting to be a part of them with no way inside.
       
      I want to belong. I just don't know how...
    • By Lux Apollo
      I'd been to many interments, each of them a different experience of loss and grief, but never before had I been asked to shovel dirt onto a friend's casket. They are all looking at me, expectantly, a shovel held out towards my hands. Can I do this? Can I really do this?
    • By Mikiesboy
      Hi!  This a short excerpt from the first chapter of my next story called Changes. It's about Don and Louis, together 10 years, married for part of that time, very devoted to each other. Don is a writer and a lover of his husband but also of danger. Life is good until one day ... 
       
      The racetrack that day was noisy and oily. The fumes gave me a headache. I felt irritated and wanted to be anywhere but there, but Don had asked me to go, and I didn’t feel like I could say no. In the pit area, I sat watching him and his crew doing last minute adjustments to the bike. I was such a fish out of water.
       
      But Don didn’t care. I was his husband, and he was not afraid to show this in front of others as he often ran up to talk or kiss me. Finally, Don went to change into his leathers, leaving me with a black feeling of doom.   
       
      If I’d gotten up and gone with him, and told him how I felt—that maybe today was not a good day to get on that killing machine—that maybe he’d have listened. In my heart-of-hearts though, I know he wouldn’t have.      
       
      No, instead, he would do what he did. Hold me in his strong arms, kiss me until I was breathless, and tell me he’d love me forevermore. I’d smile and act bravely, cheering him on, but scared until the damn race was over.   
         
      It happened in the fifth lap. They don’t really know what caused the accident; can’t tell me the whys, only that it was an act of God.
       
      Do we blame God for everything bad that happens?
       
      I see it every day in my head; it was just after a right turn. The bike leaning, and Don’s right knee so close to the track. It was too close, wasn’t it? The physics were instantly wrong, so that massive machine slid out from under him, and Don becoming a ragdoll as he flipped repeatedly, bouncing off the guardrail and hay bales. The ambulance screamed its way over the park-like grass in the centre of the track.
       
      I wanted to go. I needed to go. But I was held in place, as Jed’s hands were on both my biceps while I tried to climb the barrier; his grip was like Don’s.
       
      Jed, the crew chief, had grabbed my face and turned it toward his. It was loud, so we all wore ear protectors, and I remember the shape of his mouth as he yelled at me; NO, NO, NO! He pulled me inside the small crew’s lounge. I fought him because this room was not where I was supposed to be. He pulled off our protectors and said, “No, Louis. We can’t help him. Let the paramedics sort him out.”
       
      “He’s my fucking husband!” I didn’t try to stop my tears.
       
      Jed pulled me close and held me in arms that felt so like Don’s, and he whispered, “I know. I know.”
       
      All I could do then was grab fistfuls of his overalls and sob.
       
      Jed drove me to the hospital. Terror was in my fingers during that ride and I dug them into my thighs and the padded door handle.
       
      Don was in surgery by the time Jed led me to the Emergency Room, where he remained for several hours. I called Don’s mother Rena, who lived in Calgary. I felt I needed a plunger to push down my feelings as I told her what had happened to her son. I knew she was crying as she said she would be here as soon as she could.
       
      That was nearly three weeks ago. Don has not woken up; he has not moved, he has not smiled or cried, or said: Baby I love you.
       
      Not for three weeks.
       
      I think I have no more tears, but today, with time passing me by, I sob.
       
      My ‘you’ve got a text’ ringtone roused me from my self-pity and daydreams. I picked up my phone, rolled onto my back and opened it:
       
      He’s awake
    • By asamvav111
      Colours of Love
       
      Paint the whole city blue and red,
      In Colours they come and in Colours they fade.
      My Colourman comes in a haunting snow,
      Pristine white when everything glow.
      He comes silently by my broken window,
      Softly sauntering like a sad old shadow.
      Glimpses by my broken window pane
      And lo what he sees, the old me again.
      Stuck in my bed in perpetual illness,
      Waiting in line for my turn with patience,
      Bereft of all but skin and bones,
      Sadist as always I am a sight to behold.
      Yet unlike most that come by my death-bed,
      I’ve failed so far to scare him to dread.
      He waits unerringly through the frozen night,
      And flees just as swiftly as the sun comes in sight.
      Yet he never utters a single word,
      Yet his eyes ever speak nothing but love.
      He colours the leaves and the petals and the pool,
      He colours distant meadows sheltered and cool,
      He colours my soul just as he colours the nature,
      As if I, too am an important creature.
      But, I know in spring when he’ll come by my window,
      The bed will be empty and I, one of those shadows.
      Then shall I be finally one with my love?
      Together we’ll colour the Heavens above.
      So here I ask you to do this small favour.
      Consider this as an affectionate endeavour.
      Please colour the city Blue and Red,
      So swiftly my lover finds my desolate bed.
      And we’ll bring colour to your life in dark shade,
      For in Colours they come and in Colours they fade!
       
      18/01/2013
      ©asamvav111
×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

Our Privacy Policy can be found here. We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue..