Posted by Atticus on August 19, 2004, at 19:43:25
In reply to Re: poem...The Telephone Just Keeps on Screaming,, posted by Jai Narayan on August 19, 2004, at 16:29:20
Hullo, Trinity,
I'm glad it didn't work out that time, either. You've become a dear friend, as palpable a supportive and welcome presence as if we'd actually met. I've said this in group so many times I think the others are sick of hearing it, but you never know what amazing things may lie just around the corner out of sight. I must have set up and started that little ritual 30 or more times before I finally completed it this past spring. I think I picked up the phone because the ritual had been spoiled, its grim rhythms interrupted. That's an artist for you. Or an obsessive-compulsive. When I used to play the piano, if I made a single error while practicing, I'd go all the way back to the beginning of the piece and start over. I think even my death had to be, in my mind, some kind of performance piece. But I also think I just wasn't quite ready yet, and on some level I felt relieved that I had been given an excuse that time to pull back from the abyss. It was very different this past spring, though, after all those false starts. I was so overwrought that the cutting was over in seconds. One slash. Another. And another. Then I plunged my left hand and forearm into this big cooking pot filled with very warm water that I had sitting beside me, fearful that even with those big deep gashes, the blood would clot. But as you know from "Spots," I had second thoughts pretty quickly once the dizziness and terror set in, and I realized that this was not going to be anything like Sarah McLachlen's romanticized version of self-destruction. I guess for me, the big question in all of this is not why I answered the phone that time; it's why I finally went through with it this year. What made me step over the edge this spring when I had stepped back, for one reason or another, so many times before? I have no answer for that. I guess it's the question that had haunted me most throughout this whole strange summer. I wonder if other would-be suicides go through years of "rehearsals" and false starts before finally giving the performance of a lifetime? In any case, I've finally tossed that "suicide kit" box and its contents out. It no longer sits in the back of my closet, ready and waiting. But in one of life's little touches that's both touching and darkly funny, whenever I have dinner at my sister's house, she gives me a plastic knife and fork to eat with; everyone else has regular silverware. My mom now does this, too. I'm glad you're getting something out of these poems. I know I am (but I'm not always sure exactly what until a read them later) -- especially the chance to "talk" with you. Ta. :) Atticus
poster:Atticus
thread:379428
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20040729/msgs/379632.html