I think about jumping out of my bedroom window, second floor, high enough to break my neck I’m sure, if I dive head first maybe.
I’m always scared that I’ll survive so I don’t attempt, at least not in ways that what I tried to do would be obvious.
As a kid I was sick a lot, maybe something in me just really wants to survive, something deeper than my aversion to life.
I look over bridges into deep waters and despite knowing the temperature is so low, despite knowing how strong the undercurrent is and how weak of a swimmer I am, I still don’t do it.
Because I know that as I fight for breath, I will swallow water, choke, the contents of my stomach will rise and fight against the force.
Because I know all of that and I could go through it all but if I did somehow survive it, like the strength in me tells me I would, all that pain would be for nothing.
I see the train coming and I think about that step, I’ve almost taken it, on busy train platforms
I’ve narrowly avoided it when I left the house with that sole intent
When one person on the platform was enough to stop me
I see the train coming and it seems so slow, slow enough that I might survive it.
It’s illogical but my fear of almost dying is worse than my fear of dying.
To have people know, come to my bedside, ask why I never confided in them, to be questioned and questioned over again, to be in pain, to have to heal.
The fear keeps me alive I suppose, maybe I fear the wrong things
I suppose I should want life, but maybe this is enough
Enough to keep me alive until I find something that truly makes me want to live.