You know, I have known more than a few people who have cried “oh they’ll miss me when I’m gone and they will regret not loving me/ not caring enough/ not paying me attention”. And none of those people have actually done it. It’s a cry for help. Not one that should go unheeded, mind you, but a cry nonetheless. And a place you can start again.
The ones you need to watch for are the ones who, step by step, start putting their lives in order, start typing out wills, start rehoming their pets, start telling you how much they love you. Separately, it’s just a sign of a person, maybe in trouble, but being sensible. Together, it’s a sure fucking sign they are taking themselves beyond your reach, forever.
There are so many people who say suicide is selfish. I still can’t agree. When you are in that much pain that you don’t want to be part of this planet anymore, then, inevitably, your choices are limited, the exit routes are closed down around you, until one, gleaming golden road fills up your vision.
Every single step down that road can be undone. Every single step can be unstepped. You can still grasp the hands that reach down, the arms that want to pull you off that road and hold you. At this stage, you still have choice.
But somewhere down that road, death claims you and you walk towards her, as if transfixed, your eyes on her and your gait steady. You reach out and her wings enfold you, taking away your pain and your weariness. She gathers it all up in those soft feathers, makes you so light, you wondered how you ever felt so pulled down, and hopeless and helpless.
Together you fly, away from pain, away from the earth, away from every hurt you ever felt.
I still couldn’t say that it is a selfless act. I imagine it might be the most courageous thing a soul in pain can ever do.
But oh my god, the loss, the silent, screaming, indescribable hole of agony you leave behind.