Sometimes I Just Plain Scare Myself

The thinking. . .

It started just recently. . .

First, during and after watching a documentary, Boy Interrupted, on TV. . .

Then again, when I read of George Sodini and his writings prior to shooting several, killing a few, in a workout facility before killing himself. . .

I hate the line of thinking these things set off in me. . .

I have always said, and believed deep in my heart, that I could not commit suicide. . .

Until the thinking started. . .

I see the world so much as they see it. . .

I feel as helpless as they seemed to feel. . .

The hope to which I’ve clung so long seems to get harder to grasp every day. . .

Could I?

Would I?

I want to scream, “NO!! OF COURSE NOT!!”

Yet the best I can honestly say is, “I hope not. I really sincerely hope not.”

It makes me feel physically ill when I feel and think this way. . .

Nausea waves over me. . .

They were convinced the only relief was death. . .

And I wonder if they are right. . .

I wonder how long fighting the good fight is worth it. . .

And when it is time to let go. . .

And it scares me that I even dare to think such thoughts.