Dear Journal,
I am allowed a pity party. I detest when others participate in their own but I need to bare an honest lonely soul. Monday morning I contemplated swallowing a bottle of prescription sleeping pills that would sufficiently put me to rest. Tears soaked my pillow as I pictured the bottle in the far reaches of my drawer. Only two footfalls away from my bed, all I needed to do was empty the bottle of pills and one by one slip the chalky oblong shaped substances into my mouth...and just swallow. So simple and so easy. I've never met anyone who hasn't been beckoned by life ending paranoia, so readers of my journal don't be paralyzed with fear that I've been tempted, yet again. My feet anchored to the bed while I thought of my four year old brother who I only met a year and a half ago and my plans to whisk him away to Disney World where dreams come true alongside the $2000 vacation I scrimped and saved for to the Dominican Republic next month. The upcoming events that last week I made painstaking sacrifices to finalize, momentarily seemed trivial. Or what about my dog? What would become of him? Would he wander around whimpering looking for his mother/owner? Those were the only things that came to mind, if I succumbed. On the very anniversary of a relative's suicide, I was thinking of my own. Loneliness encumbered my already heavy heart and I trembled at the further pains I'd have to endure if I were to continue trying to tear the thick cobwebs from around it. Lately my reading choices have eased into the macabre apocalyptic genre where humans are revealed as destructive bitter voids intent on hatred, fed by fear and moved by nothing at all. Its all fiction and false but its a glimpse into the reality of the world. Nearly three days ago, a man balled his hand into a fist and pumped me in my chest because he didn't want to give up the empty seat next to him on the bus and passengers silently sat by, mouths agape. It reminded me of an incident a few years back where I was groped by giggling school age boys in a crowded train station which evoked vivid memories of a sexual assault I've never coped with. The humiliation of that rape still causes nausea to swell into my chest at the thought of any stranger's unwelcome touch and I remembered refusing to leave my bed for days after the groping. The empty stares of the onlookers on that bus and on the subway all those years back, reminded me of people's indifference to an obvious grotesque situation and further made me realize how lonely I was. I had no one to call to receive comfort from because the triggers and violations wouldn't be understood. Not fully. I called my "situation"/ex-boyfriend for his quality reassurance and he hung up. Alone. It hurts to be lonely on the anniversary of a relative's suicide. Scary. So I rode it out. Allowed the tears to soak my pillow and listened to the small voice in my head that told me to rest and wake up later.
Two days later, I'm here.
