Not a nice reflection to see…


Among the different complexes that plague me, a frequent one is imagining (even wishing) I could end my life. To my mind, it is the solution to most (if not all) of the problems that plague me, and sometimes, as a result, my family

I, of course, don’t have any kind of himmat to do anything physically damaging to myself. It’s probably another fear that prevents me from actually leaping off a roof,  slitting my wrists or swallowing a palmful of pills.

And, to quickly digress, I do seem to have a morbid fascination for death, especially the violent kinds. Driving down a road at top speed, I have more than once wanted to ram the car onto the oncoming vehicle or standing at the edge of terrace and wondered what would go through my head if I just took a step off the ledge ( I can’t even peer down thanks to a fear of heights).

I wonder about the crash and the boom and the bang and the sounds and would I feel pain and would I pray in those last moments or would I just be panicking. The week after the terror attacks, when there were rumours circulating that some terrorists did get away, I would wonder what would I do if I came face to face with a gun-toting one? A strange calm would descend on me thinking that he would do to me, what I obviously could not.

There is strange escape hatch I create, I notice, even as I think of it and some one once told me, if I haven’t done it, I never will. I am not depressed enough. 🙂

But coming back to this post, some years ago I was diagnosed with diabetes and tried to adapt and accept and improve my quality of life. But honestly I don’t think I have really successfully managed. Mostly because I didn’t care enough about myself to give a sh*& about my sugar levels or about what kind of long-term damage it could do to me.

Somewhere along the way I thought yes this was the way. All I needed to do was binge. Even once in a way. That would surely end it for me. Again I didn’t  want to do anything directly.

But then yesterday I received a gift from a friend and I realised what the hell was I was doing. Like in everything else, I wanted to just walk away from this. Not take responsibility. Not be accountable. Her gift made me snap out of this fugue state that I seem to be in. Seeing the book made me cry.


3 responses »

  1. Pingback: Why hadn’t I done it? « Let’s Eat Healthy

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