Suicide

As part of my Summer Project 'Silence: Black Dog', I have talked about the recent suicide of Brittany Missen and touched on my own depression and anxiety.

Having spent the usual time on Pinterest today, I started a new board on suicide. I looked at the feelings of those who feel suicidal, attempt suicide, succeed in ending their lives and also at the aftermath for those left behind. In the majority of cases no suicide note is left, unlike in the movies. This leaves so many questions for the family and friends, for which there often are no simple answers, especially if it was completely unexpected.

Having let it all mull around in my head I felt I wanted to write something in response:

Suicide

Everything stops . . .

Silence . . .

The world is still revolving . . .

The clocks keep ticking, reminding you that in spite of the end of life as you knew it, as you didn't know you loved it and wouldn't, NOW, have changed for the world . . .

You can't eat, why would you . . .

To eat, breath or unforgivably, laugh, would mean life was moving on, continuing . . .

But that isn't possible, how can it, it isn't right . . . is it?

No, we must mourn as no-one has ever mourned before . . .

We berate, flagellate, wail . . .

But mostly, we just ask, ‘why’? . . .

They were loved so much, meant so much, were such a good friend, so many memories, so many laughs . . .

So we look back at the photographs . . .

Can we see a change? . . .

Were the eyes dead, when the face was smiling? . . .

There aren't really answers . . .

For them . . . there was either so much pain, that if it were physical, you would hear the screams from the moon . . .

Or there was nothing . . . no pain, but equally . . . no pleasure . . .

Just . . . a never ending vision of nothingness . . . no hope . . . no joy . . . nothing . . .

Stretching further than they could see . . . further than forever . . . .

Suicide.