The Morning After I Killed Myself

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The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.

I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass.

I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.

The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few day lilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.

The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.

The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.


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6 COMMENTS

  1. This was so beautiful. It made me cry. I am closer to 60 than I can believe. I never expected to live past 20. I’ve lost so many people in my life: some to drugs and alcohol, some to age and disease, and some to suicide. This should be required reading. It should be painted in giant letters on all the bridges and skyscrapers of the world where everyone can always see it; where those who are too far past the pain and who can only see stretched before them an unending nothingness.

    I hate social media, but I want to help you spread this message. It has real potential to make someone stop and think: maybe even long enough to stop them from doing that which cannot be undone.

    I’d really like to talk to you about this. I’m retired, my mom died at 93, so I should have another third (30ish years) of life left! I hope you can, as admin, access the email address I entered below, but in case you can’t, I’ll check back here every few days for a reply. I really hope to hear from you!!!!

  2. Today, I wrote a suicide letter. I tore it apart after sitting at my window contemplating the end of my life. I told myself the world hated me enough, I hated myself enough and it needed to stop. I read my letter one last time and realized it was so bad, so negative. I thought about my brother finding my shoes next to the window and the anger he’d have against himself… PFF really, what a stupid idea I had… Tonight the love of my life called me and told me how we would be still laughing and having sex at 80, I tried to tell him what happened but couldn’t, I realized his dream was mine. I can’t die yet. I have so so much but it’s hard to see all this sometimes… So stupid of me really. Thank you.

  3. Wow! This makes me wonder who wrote this. I’ve been there. When you push past that feeling, there’s more life and happiness inside of you, the pain fades. Pain challenges us to grow and even though we find it unbearable at times, it’s there to teach us something, not to make us believer we should cut ourselves out of this world.

    It’s not stupid to think this way. It’s something that happens to our psyche. It can either be a result of trauma or mental illness which can be healed but it is never our fault. At a time of suicidal contemplation, that is the time when we need our own love the most.
    Tell yourself that this too shall pass. Emotions eb and flow, this emotion will come like a wave, it seems big and scary when it is above you but soon it will crash and fade into the rest of the ocean. Our capability for happiness does not ever disappear. You just need to remember the things that make you feel happy and fulfilled and keep on doing that. If you don’t know what makes you feel happy and fulfilled then the journey to discover it will become enjoyable.
    Never give up!

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