At a Standstill

Truth be told I’m at a standstill and I’m still yet to leave the front garden. I am so tired. The clouds above are grey and threatening rain. I want to go inside and hide. I want to but I haven’t. Yes, maybe I am sitting still on the concreate path getting colder by the minute. No, I haven’t actually stepped out onto the road and really made a start on this journey, but I haven’t turned back either.


I’m still here. Right now surely that counts for something. 
Advertisements

Hong Kong

I might be outside of the front door, but right now I’m sitting down. The ground is cold and hard, the sky is dark with oncoming sleet.

What I wanted, this morning, was for Hong Kong to be a landmark on my map. I wanted to sketch it in, under the ninth of December as something to head towards. Promptly after thinking that, I went to sleep, where I wasted much of the rest of the day.

Whenever someone happens to walk past me, as I sit, not even half way down my garden path, I glare at them. Right now I don’t have the energy for people. Interaction just leaves me wondering whether people are so grating on purpose. Logically I know they don’t, the same as logically I know that the sleet cloud overhead is only present in my vision, not anyone else’s. I would like to push myself up, walk back through the still open front door and go to sleep with the empty promise that tomorrow I’ll get up, go out, turn right and start walking. Then in the morning, several hours after the sun has come up, I’d curl myself tighter under my duvet and make the same promise before falling back to sleep.

I need to get up, the path is cold concreate. I want to go to Hong Kong. I can sketch it, very faintly, on my map. It’s something to aim for. Even if when it comes to it I have a melt-down and can’t go, at least if it’s sketched on I haven’t given up yet. 

Without a Map

I’m standing just outside of my front door now. I haven’t closed it behind me; I need to know that I can still turn around and shut myself in.

I woke up this morning to news that my little brother Arlo might not in fact be coming to University with me next year as we’d hoped. He might be changing schools and in doing so, having to spend an extra year in Sixth form. As much as I want him to do what is right for him, it feels as though whatever vague sketch of a map I had has been erased. We were going to have a flat together so that we could support each other through the everyday stuff. It was a point that I could look forward to. The idea of going back to university without him, without that tiny point of security, is too terrifying to contemplate. I could learn to drive and go to campus from home if I have to. I could put it off yet another year, I might have to do that anyway, who knows.

I’m standing outside my front door, but I have no map, no set points to aim for. It has made turning left and tumbling down the path to death that much more tempting.

Except for my brother. Arlo is having a hard time too. Hence changing schools being suggested at all. He needs to make the right choice for him, he needs to do what is best for him even if that means rubbing out the only point on my map. Arlo is a lot like me and turning left means leaving him to deal with that on his own instead of being there to help him. So maybe I’ll have to sketch some new points on my map and maybe the road won’t always go in the direction I’d expected it too, but I have to turn right.

In my back pack, with my pen and paper, is a picture of Arlo. I am his big sister.

Stepping out of the Front Door

It has been almost ten days since I attempted suicide.

Since I am not a technologically gifted member of the undead, it can be concluded that the attempt was a failed one. For the past week I have been living as an automaton floating in limbo. Fortunately I was released from hospital after only 10 hours, but since then members of my family have taken it in turns to babysit me. Needless to say I haven’t been the best company. It has brought me back to a familiar crossroads.

I am standing in the doorway, looking out at the road beyond. I could take that step outside, over the threshold, choose my direction and begin walking again. Or I could remain as I am, standing motionless, watching the world pass by but not taking part. Right now I’m wavering, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet because stepping out and engaging with the world is far more difficult than staying as I am.

I could step backwards into the house. I could close the door and shut myself away. I could ignore the world, refuse to even look at it. Functioning on automatic is no life though. If I step back inside, if I close the door, I’ll just sleep until I die.

So I could take that step out. I could choose a direction. I could set my compass towards self-destruct, turn left and follow a short, rugged path towards death. Or I could turn the other way and follow the uncertain, undefined road of life. Both ultimately lead to the same destination, it’s just that the second road is longer and more winding. What would be the point of turning right instead of left? Well, I suppose there is the chance of some beautiful scenery. Some interesting travelling companions. Some wrong turns. Some adventures. Some stories to tell. If I turn left, the story is only as long as it takes for me to succeed in ending my life. If I turn right, who knows how long it could end up?

I want to step outside of the door. The arches of my feet are aching from rocking back and forth on the threshold. I have a back pack, but it’s almost empty. It’s empty because I don’t know who I am and have no idea what I want to take with me. I’m starting again, leaving all of my old baggage at the door. If I’m going to turn right, then I want to look at these new surroundings with fresh eyes, I want to find who I am without the depression. Without the anxiety. Without the endless list of things I should like; should want; should know. The back pack is empty but for a pen and paper. 


I am Robin and I like to write. The rest will come.