To be or not to be,

( Trigger Warning:

Discussion of suicidal ideation.)

“People think we understand more about suicide than we actually do,” said Foreman. “We have invested very, very little into research on suicide, especially on feeling chronically suicidal. But at a certain point, when you’re having that mood all the time, something is happening inside your body. Something’s wrong, and we don’t understand what yet.”

In an afternoon slumber, I had a sweet dream. I dream in which I ceased to be.

I love sunrises, new beginnings, new perspectives. And one particular sunrise, I realized I’d much rather be dead. It struck to me as a simple thought. It made perfect sense. It was in harmony with chirping of the birds, the rustling leaves and the scent of the ground below me. I could imagine my being dissolving and becoming a part of the Earth.

I’ve always believed that the Universe is love.

And because of that, the idea of separation of physical bodies infuriated me. I felt my soul was made of wind and it longed to float. It longed to fly. But my mind, my Ego often made it difficult for love to reach me. Or for my love to reach another soul.

The world was made of so many structures and I knew none of them would contain me, at least not as their own. I felt like an unwelcome immigrant on a foreign land. I tried to learn new cultures, new beliefs, new forms of being every once in a while but no one would take me in as their own.

I found souls scared and as equally displaced as I was. But I learnt ideas that helped everyone. I tried to make them work on me. The idea of a nuclear family, communion with God, Maslow’s hierarchy. The world always fell short on me. I was always larger than life.

It came to me as a simple thought. Nestling on my head as a tiny sparrow searching for its place in the world. Maybe the idea felt like an alien too. Everyone denied its existence inside and around them. But I took it. I knew it didn’t belong. It was an intruder. And so was I.

Yet I took my hot cup of tea everyday, I went on walks, I wrote my friends letters about future prospects. You know, the mundane stuff. But in the back of my head was a comforting thought. Perfectly safe and hidden. At any given moment, when it gets too much I can let it go. I can let it take control and give away my will.

But like the Sun, I rise again each day. Sometimes with dread and exhaustion. Sometimes in complete bloom. I drink my hot cup of tea and take a walk, I write a letter to my friend. Feebly so, my courage persists and my hope lasts. My world stops, pauses and goes on.