Finally, a reason came to me. Whenever i was asked about why i did what i did, why i tried to die, my answer seemed half convincing: "i needed to stop time" or "i didn't want to see what came next."
Last Saturday morning, it came to me, as i lay in bed, getting ready to start my day. My day always starts with a review of my current surroundings: a futon, boxes stacked against walls, four pictures on a wall in a feeble attempt to create a home... all my possessions stored in a bedroom. Over the months the disgust it caused in me has faded to bitter sweetness.
i do not know where it came from, but when it arrived, it made perfect sense:
the suicide was a way to regain control, as i had lost control over everything in my life, my marriage, my children, my home, my friends..... it was a last ditch attempt to not be beaten down.
