Stage Left

“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything - all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important.” (Steve Jobs, American businessman)

            I never wanted to be one of those people who regrets not seizing the day, not making the most of each moment. In my youth, I did just that. I never took the time to appreciate my time and I rarely stopped to smell the roses. Time, it seems, can change a man. Circumstance and experience can shape a man. These days, Carpe Diem is my forte. It is part of my mission statement. I care about wasting my life, even if only in increments, for a minute or two or ten or two hundred. It has become important to me that I seize the day like they say. It has become important for me to be kind and leave a positive impression when I meet someone. I must be kind, regardless of any reason that person has given me not to be. This position may come and go depending on the actions of the object of my rejection. I strive to be so, then be so some more. I want to be remembered as tolerant and generous and someone who loved loudly. I wish to be thought of as laughing. I strive to stay on this path. It can be easy to float away on all the negative bullshit that this world has to offer. I have, so far, stayed the course. It has been challenging and, quite often, it has been a struggle. In the most sincere manner, I try to love others as I would myself. I try not to judge, since we are all living a horror of our own. More than anything else, I am diligent in remembering that I am not dead, regardless of the realization that I really should be.

“Killing oneself is, anyway, a misnomer. We don't kill ourselves. We are simply defeated by the long, hard struggle to stay alive. When somebody dies after a long illness, people are apt to say, with a note of approval, ‘He fought so hard.’ And they are inclined to think, about a suicide, that no fight was involved, that somebody simply gave up. This is quite wrong.” (Sally Brampton, English journalist)

            As I hit the edge of Stratford, I downed them all like they were candy. One hundred little blue pills, one thousand milligrams of Valium, rushed into my system. I barely made it to the cemetery. When I finally managed to get inside the gates, I was overcome and headed right into the centre of a roundabout. I deserted my car, leaving the engine running and the driver’s door open. I crisscrossed the grounds, effectively facing the icy February cold. I made it to him, or at least so they tell me. Apparently, I tossed myself onto the grave and faded into the bitter night. There was no overcoat to comfort me. There were no gloves, no hat, no scarf, there was nothing to deter the frigidness of my surroundings. I did everything I thought I could do to leave this world that night. Both science and religion have agreed, I should not be here. Well, here I am. You could say I was given a second chance. You could say I was rescued, set free. All I know is that things changed for me after this incident. Although I still faced tremendous grief and pain, I began to notice individual moments instead of general occurrences. Each day was a gift and I refused to waste it. It was like a flashlight had been loosed in my darker place. This is why not wasting my time is so important to me. If this has been a second chance, I don’t want to misuse it. Sometimes I tend to forget my direction. Outside forces tend to distract our true purpose. Every time I want to give up and every time I abandon all hope, I remember I am not dead, yet.

“You’re going to die. You’re going to be dead. It could be 20 years, it could be tomorrow, anytime. So am I. I mean, we’re just going to be gone. The world’s going to go on without us. All right now. You do your job in the face of that, and how seriously you take yourself you decide for yourself.” (Bob Dylan, American musician)

            Death will change a man. To wake up to life, when I had departed by darkness, was a strange experience for me. To say the event was surreal is an understatement. One moment I was in my car turning into the cemetery and heading towards him. The next thing I knew, half a week had passed and I stood captured by an institution that was bound and determined to convince me to live. My stay in hospital really did me no good. When I left it behind, I still felt the same way about living. I didn’t want to. It was my brush with death that quelled my hand. Even though every part of me wanted to go, the idea of abandoning my second chance held me sure and managed to get me through. Occasionally, I have felt like a cat. I do not mean to imply I am a pussy, just graced with nine lives. It can feel like that sometimes. In my twenties, the good Bipolar that I am took it upon himself to exit stage left at any time he chose to. I have more than just scars to prove it. I could take it personally. In my time, there have been over a dozen suicide attempts so I am left feeling unwanted, in a sense. Perhaps I don’t deserve to die. God doesn’t want me and neither does Jesus.

“When you arise in the morning think of what a privilege it is to be alive,

to think, to enjoy, to love ... ” (Marcus Aurelius, Roman emperor)

            A month had passed since our suicides. My grief was unending, at least it seemed like it at the time. I barely functioned and obsessed with the idea of removing myself from the planet. It was hard enough getting through one day without having to think about holding the moment, seizing that day, or even thinking about tomorrow. For weeks, grief caused me to suffer but it was by my own hand. Those moments were dark, foreboding and destructive. I did not wish to move past it, it was all I had left. The last time I thought about taking my life was on Sunday, March 19^th, 1995. I had hidden a bottle of tequila near the flour mill where he had jumped just a few weeks before. I sat staring at the tower, wishing I had the balls to climb it myself. This is why I held that bottle, that is what I had come here for. Perhaps the drink would force me to the top. I just couldn’t do it. Despite any inebriation, I walked away from that fate. As I sat there, I closed my eyes and felt the sun all around me. A breeze washed over me and calmed my soul. For a moment I was one with the world rather than wanting to be off it. It hit me and it hit me hard. I had already gone on with my life. I had already survived. Killing myself at that point would have been anticlimactic. Sitting feeling alive made me want to be. I have never entertained the self-harm option since that day. Sometimes I feel like everyone else. Sometimes I want to run and dying seems the ultimate refuge. I don’t ever really mean it. Over twenty years later and I am still not dead.

“The future depends on what you do today.” (Mahatma Gandhi, Indian activist)

            I can only imagine the toll smoking will eventually have on my health. Even though I have stopped, it has already done much damage. My teeth have suffered, my lungs have suffered and my pocketbook has suffered. The pain started in the most inconvenient manner. Any time I exercised, or even walked too far, I would seize up. I felt like I had been torn in two via my rib cage. I even entertained the idea that some Alien baby might just pop out of me at any time. The angina was fierce. When they took the Angiogram, I wasn’t surprised to learn I had a blockage in my heart. I asked if they could tell what had caused it and I was informed I might just as well have shoved a few cigarettes right into my arteries. Thirty years of sucking on death did nothing but make my life worse. It was a little scary at first but over time the proper medications made it seem like there was nothing wrong at all. I have always been lucky with my choice of doctors. The care I have received has been outstanding and, literally, saved my life. When I froze in the cemetery, they brought me back. When I lost my mind, they made me found again. My cardiologist is no exception. After that initial appointment, I came to the crossroad. I sat in my car and the first thing I reached for was a cigarette. Someone might as well have punched me in the face. This was slow suicide. A few years have passed and I am healthy as a horse. There is no issue outside picking up my prescriptions. I am still alive and I am still moving forward with life. After all these years, after all the complications, after all the drain, I am still not dead.

“Beginning today, treat everyone you meet as if they were going to be dead by midnight. Extend to them all the care, kindness and understanding you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward.” (Og Mandino, American author)

            Recently, a family member claimed to  have taken an entire bottle of pills with the hope of leaving this world. Fortunately, it takes more than a few aspirin to off yourself. Youth is wasted on the young. The attempt got me to thinking. The very idea of dying is so alien to me now. Every day is another reason to keep going. I’ll take each one of those days, thank you very much. Most certainly, I am still not dead nor do I wish to be. I prefer to just stay away from that kind of otherland. I am even looking forward to the aging process. While I do not fear death, I respect it so much more than I ever did in the past. Dying, in a sense, has become part of the process rather than an obstacle, or something to avoid and not think about. It has no power over me. I have become a patient man. I can wait for it, even if I want nothing to do with it. Living has become my focus. Every moment is so appreciated that I forget to try and I just do. It has become my natural state. Like everyone else, I still experience heartache and I still suffer at the hands of fate. I am constantly reminded of where I have come from and where I am going. I may not be dead but one day I will be. I can count on that.

“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this.”
(Henry David Thoreau, American  essayist)

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http://www.iwasbornveryyoung.com/2012/03/i-told-you-i-was-sick.html