Reading about P.S.H.’s death, his days before it and his life spoke a similarity to me.
Reading the article I continually wanted to put a period on it so I could think a way to feel sad, understand and walk on leaving it behind with thought, emotion and meaning.
That whole thought process allows my mind to think it understands, comprehends and knows so it can let it go.
I walked for almost a year as he did that last day. Lethargic, empty, sweaty and gray.
I tried to kill myself so many times. I was Baker Acted, confined involuntarily to a locked ward, a month in a treatment facility, countless 12 step meetings along with desperate, soul searching attempts so many times; asking God, on my knees as tears falling from my eyes “oh please God let me stop falling. Give me what I need to let me stand on my own”.
A empty frail shell of a man who once traveled the world, competed on stage flexing his armor, sketched and painted images of beauty and wrote meaningful stories about life and it course no longer inhabited this space.
There I was helpless to a drug that owned my life’s note. The “I” of me was no longer mine. It belonged to a powder and a rock that had a hunger unlike anything I had ever known.
No amount was ever enough. It no longer gave me comfort or filled my cup, no matter how much I took. It always was more hungry for itself of me. I no longer existed; I was just a shell, walking day to day, week to week, month to month, in my Hell.
Very few cared in the end and those that did were put to such a torture. Looking at what was once a man they had known and felt love, he was no longer here. What was there was pathetic and ashamed of what he had become and lost.
Sitting here now with sobriety and a hand that serves a purposeful fate, part of me wants to see a worth in such a destructive past. Some sort of light that could give the dark a meaning, a reason, something to let it be okay. To feel like I know and have something I can show. But I don’t know what, when or why. Trying to be okay with that is tough at this time. Maybe as months turn to years and years to better times I can leave it in the back yard. I know though it will never be gone or understood and I have to be okay with that in a “Now” that never ends.