I just realized, when filling out my mood tracker, that I haven't had a suicidal thought yet today! That must be advantageous! I picked up my mother's sleeping pills and delivered them - she can't get any sleep without them so it seemed selfish to use them all up to end my life. You see, there's lots of suicide options that aren't for me - I'm asthmatic and I hate the idea of asphixiation - whether by choking, drowning, suffocating. Did you know that only 6% of people who cut their wrists actually die? That means 94% don't! And what a mess - I tried it once long ago. Hypothermia SEEMS like a quick, relatively painless death - at least in THIS state! But I live in town and if you went outside without a coat in February here...I've gone down to the river at night and sat there. The idea of walking into that cold, dark water...it's frightening. Don't let them tell you that suicides are cowards! They don't know what they're talking about. I don't want to leave a corpse here for my family. I don't want to be observed, stopped, and sent away.
In the days when my third son was commonly in court a zealous assistant prosecutor told the court room that I had made attempts at suicide and I was, therefore, a bad mother and custody of my children should be remanded to the state - she said this right in front of my young, emotionally fragile son! I was such a bad mother that my children weren't AWARE of my desire to die until she stood on her soap box and pontificated - for the sake of the children, of course. How many times I've heard "It's all for the sake of the CHILDREN, Leta" What a bitter wreck of a woman I am. The people I despise are in no way effected by it. My children, for whose sake most often I go screaming onto the war path, obtain no benefit. After my middle son, at the age of 11, had, in his innocence, opted to not press charges upon the girl who had lied for 6 weeks that he had cut her with a knife. For some reason he couldn't think past the prosecution's offer to remove the heavy metal lock around his ankle which was giving him sores and curtailing all the activities he enjoyed that the lawyer promised him if he wouldn't take it to court that day. When I walked out of that lovely historic building I was a changed woman. Gone was my thrill of the fight for right and justice, my optomistic belief that "the truth will out". I had gone, in my black wool coat and heels, blindly steering my van through town, gulping down tears. I finally got out and stumbled onto a frigid bench (it was a very cold December) and begged to leave this planet. Sliding off the bench into the snow I wailed against the heavens and the earth! Long I lay there but, sadly, did not freeze to death. I went home, went to bed, shivering, and continued crying - more quietly to not upset the kids. So, after a time, my 11 year old son walks into my bedroom and asks, "Mom, today at court, did I do something wrong?" "What do you mean", I whispered hoarsely. "When the lawyer asked me if I still wanted to go to court should I have said yes?" Here I was in agony for what HE had suffered - that it had all been for nothing and now he couldn't understand - he was worried about MY pain from it. Do you see?
The events in my life that have transpired to pin me down to this mere "existense" don't have to be as overwhelming and tragic, perhaps, to others without my bipolarity. I am passionately insensed by all kinds of "unfairness". That's what they can write on my tombstone - "Here lies Leta B.- Life wasn't fair."