I went on a journey and now I’m back
I went to the edge and it wasn’t all black
Sitting at the event horizon of his influence
I looked upon my foe to study his intentions and ultimately to know the nature of his existence
There’s not point lying about this and making it what it was not. I was in a dark country with no way out. My twisted terror of a life had pressure split the thin lidded tin of my own construction and the fearsome memory of agony had escaped. Blinded with sadness I came across the edge, knee buckling loneliness and so much regret of what was my lot.
There I met suicide and had a fevered look
There suicide met me and played it by the book
Worthless, useless, better of dead, pointless, friendless, ya-dee-fucking-da less
Seriously now, through all this internal…. internal dialogue mind, justified grievance blameless stuff, internal now, don’t forget. I walked to the edge and I learned the last trick in his book, my book ultimately because it was in my own head, my own internal dialogue, what I said. The last revelation that makes you jump, take the pills or whatever you want to be sure you’re not around for regrets.
It’s so obvious. It’s this…now, it came as surprise to me, because I’m a bit dense and had always thought suicide was an action. You do it… to commit suicide, kill yourself, jump in-front of a train… But it’s not. It is totally passive. That’s what terrified me and made me recoil. The pure simple truth that all you have to do is accept the sweet embrace of death, don’t fight it. It is truly seductive, a blissful acceptance, just take my hand, stop fighting or trying to understand and improve a difficult mental state that life has dealt. Stop trying to comprehend the awful feeling of twisted development. Just smell the sweet lotus blooms and wink out of existence.
That’s the awful con. You convince yourself, to give up on your own life! It is too obvious, but it must be said. It is the purist of all self-indulgencies, to expire a life that’s not yet spent.
Swimmers swim, fighters fight and thinkers think. Writers write ha-ha!
I’m a thinker and a fighter and I like to write. I’m not a self-killer and am not about to start. Yes, I wish my life had been different and I cry and despair and bitterly regret. If I can talk myself into it I can write my way out. But I believe in hope and If I can think it, it can exist. I just need to be a bit more dynamic and do more about it…. who doesn’t?
How to apply this scientific discovery? A case study of one. What can be taught?
This... Stop listening to your head, because it’s full of brains and if they were half descent they wouldn’t have got you into this situation in the first place, now would they? Instead listen to your gut, it is an honest worker that supplies energy, recycles junk and shits out crap. It’s time to move our mind from up there… (tap your head) to here… (pat just below your sternum), toi aussi. Where the organs are, the heart pumps blood. Where the guts start, liver, kidneys and spleen.
Tell the brain to do its fucking job and stop making up shit that can get you killed.
And never give up
and never surrender.