We had enough rain this past week, that mowing once again became a necessity. So, reluctantly, I did it.
It was a beautiful day, a perfect day to go hiking, or to have a picnic, but not for me, not this day. The sky was a clear deep blue, the sun shone brightly, warmly, the grass a brilliant green, instead of dry and brown tipped. I paused the mower several times to gaze wonderingly at the red-tailed hawks riding the thermals above the forested areas, they looked so free, gliding so effortlessly high above.
This time in the hopes of staving off a myriad of jumbled thoughts, I had donned my MP3 player and headphones, with the hope I would have music filling my mind instead of the usual flotsam and jetsam. It worked...kinda.
Several songs were deciphered by me over the noise of the engine. One song that I have not thought about in years is loaded on it...funny thing is...I don't remember downloading it...but I must've...for it is there. The song? Suicide is Painless, (written by Johnny Mandel). You know, the MASH theme song. Why do I have it? I don't know. But of course my mind drifted toward suicide, and questions...
What would bring me to that point now, as compared to the past when I did seriously consider it? I can't think of anything, not now, there is too much pain involved for those left behind. K and B, both gone, both leaving a legacy of pain behind. No, suicide isn't painless, not for the one doing, not for those left behind. They left no notes, no knowing for us, we are all always wishing things could have somehow been different, always missing them. Nope, I couldn't, no matter my inner anguish, the depth of depression, I couldn't do that to Mr. Son, or Miss Daughter, or to any of the other children in my life who already live with loss due to suicide. No suicide isn't painless.
But, what about mercy suicide, euthanasia (assisted suicide)? Health related suicide is different... we've talked about this kind, it is a choice that all involved (in my life anyway) would understand.
But, leaving Mr. Son, and Miss daughter, and all the other children I love, with that legacy, that pain, just because I was in mental anguish? I hope I would seek professional counseling, and medications before believing that suicide is the answer....I think I would disappear before I would take my life, write them letters and call them occasionally ...in that way they would at least know I was alive somewhere, hopefully working on whatever I need to deal with. No, no, no, suicide is not painless.
People are always asking me, "How are you doing?" Why do they keep asking? I always answer the same, "I'm doing OK, some days are better than others, but all in all, I am doing OK."
Yesterday, when asked, "How are you doing?", I answered with my standard answer.
But she wasn't satisfied...why? Then she ask again, really ask this time. "Are you really doing OK?"
I answered pretty much the same...but am I? Doing OK?
The real answer. Nope, I'm not. Some days I think I am. Most days, I know I am not.
I am not OK.
I don't know how to be anymore.
For years I defined a large part of myself as someone's wife, as two someone's mother. Those two roles played a large part in how I dealt with my world, my reality.
But, these past five years or so, even as I was defined as someone's wife, I also defined, and lived the role of a very unhappy wife. I was unhappy. No...I was miserable. That very miserableness defined me. The fears that went along with that deep misery also defined me.
I am not miserable any longer, I am no longer (at least in spirit) someones' wife. I have lost some of my fears. Or, if not completely lost them, I am now able to place them in their proper context.
But, what am I? Who am I? There are days, in which I just...don't know...I do not know all of who I am. I wonder...is that important? Do I have to know? Many times over the past few months, I have realized that, no, I don't have to know, I do not have to define me.
But, I haven't quite adjusted to the loss of so many roles in such a short time. Many of the roles I have played over the years, have slipped away in small increments, I was comfortable with their passing. Ready to slip on new ones. Ready to allow new facets of my personality to come to the forefront of my definition of me. But...
Something is missing though, it hasn't left an ache, nor an empty space, it is a space that might best be described as....as...blank? Am I OK with that? Nope, not really...but it is gonna have to do for now...at least today.
Excerpts from the interview by Sergeant Dave Karsnia (DK) of Larry Craig (LC):
DK: Did you do anything with your feet?
LC: Positioned them. I don't know. I know at the time. I'm a fairly wide guy.
DK: I understand
LC: I had to spread my legs
LC: Did we bump? Ah you said so. I don't recall that.
DK: Yeah, well your foot did touch mine, on my side of the stall
LC: All right
DK: And then with the hand. How many times did you put your hand under the stall?
LC: I don't recall. I remember reaching down once. There was a piece of toilet paper back behind me and picking it up.
DK: I guess I'm gonna say I'm just disappointed in you, sir. I'm just really am. I expect this from the guy we get out of the hood, I mean people vote for you.
LC: Yes they do.
DK: Unbelievable, unbelievable.
LC: I'm a respectable sort of person and I don't do those kinds of....
DK: Have you been successful in these bathrooms here before?
LC: I go to that bathroom regularly
DK: I mean for any type of other activities.
LC: No. Absolutely not. I don't seek activity in bathrooms.