Off the Road Again
I still think about it, far more often than I ever assumed I would. Seems I was more delusional than I thought possible. I told myself it was something that I would grow out of. Not the depression part, I always knew that was with me for the long haul, it being a chemical imbalance and all. What I was hoping to out grown was the constant thoughts of ending my own life.
It happens all the time, even when nothing is particularly wrong, although nothing is ever particularly right either. I could be in a perfectly decent mood, or even a good mood and I still just think about the possibility of never having to think again. It’s not just the big things that I think about abandoning, like the idea that I am 30 and still single with no prospect in sight, or that I don’t honestly believe that I will ever pay off my school loans. But it’s also the little things, never having to pump gas again, grocery shop or let anyone down.
When I was younger my thoughts of suicide where very typical, sleeping pills, drowning myself, hanging myself, all the usuals. In all actuality I was pretty much always on the verge of starvation more than anything, due to never eating more than 500 calories a day. Above all it was always when driving that I contemplated death the most. That’s probably why I hate driving so much, fear that I may one day let my dreams come true.
Living in Lake Tahoe there are a lot of areas where the road travels high up above the water, and there is nothing but steep cliffs all the way down. In one certain spot there is water on both sides and the cliffs have to be at least half a mile down to the water, if not more. For some reason there are no guard rails, maybe the highway engineers figured that no amount of metal was going to be able to help if a vehicle was going off the side. Most people, when driving over the pass slow down to admire the view, or to ease their nerves. I, on the other hand try to speed throw it, because I can think about it how nice it would be just to let the wheel go. I never actually think about the middle part, the part where I fall to my death, or die from the car landing on top of me. Instead I think about the beginning and the end. How freeing it would feel to finally throw in the towel and just give up. I feel as though I have been fighting this battle with life since I was 15 and I just want it to be over with. I’ve never tried to win at anything else, why should life be the exception. And I think about the end, when I no longer have to keep trying, failing and starting over.
I find myself, subconsciously, doing things all the time that may lead to my demise. I eat under cooked or outdated meats. I bike on the highway without a helmet. I run alone in places where mountain lions have been spotted. I get hopeful when the plan encounters turbulence. I spend countless hours thinking about the ending of my life, and the other hours trying to convince myself to continue the battle to keep living.
Sometimes I wonder what life would be like without these thoughts, if I would like driving better if it wasn’t a consent metal struggle. Maybe if I could just give in to the fact that life has won and I need to accept it. I guess one way or another I need to stop fighting.