The Suicide Diary (2 page)

I’ve written this as an extended version of a ‘suicide letter’. A sort of diary of my journey to the end.

I think that would probably shock a few people, although maybe not all that much if they really thought about it, however, it’s the truth and if nothing else I will be honest in this diary, it's the only place I can be.

It wasn't so long ago that I decided I wanted to kill myself. Or to be more exact I want to end my life, the killing part is where I am struggling. Being not so good with pain and hating the sight of blood is making it a little complicated. I don't have too many options with regards to the ‘how to’ part; I just know I don't want to be here anymore.

It guess it might be easy to write me off as troubled; to sit there and think that nothing could bring you to the point where you could willingly take your own life. I've done things that might be easy to judge and I've made many, many bad choices but this isn’t about wanting to die; it’s just that I no longer want to go on living this life.

Before I can go through with it, I need to find a way to say goodbye to some people and for some reason I made up my mind to write everything down - to spill my metaphorical guts before I spill my actual ones…to put it crudely. The thought of anyone reading this horrifies me, but after I'm gone it won't make any difference to me and, if anyone takes the time to read these words, perhaps it might give some reason behind my actions. Part of me hopes if I see everything written down, if I can read my reasons in ink then it will give me more conviction. Because truth be told, I am terrified. If I fail, then my family will know and I will cause them even more pain than I already have with my messed up life. If I succeed then what comes afterwards, if Heaven and Hell exist, where will I go and if they don’t exist - then what?

The path that led me here seems twisted and confusing and I have no idea how to get back or if it should be forward. And so I’ve come to the conclusion that I will do neither - I'm just going to stop and put an end to everything that I've done and everything I feel. I’ve been called cold, emotionless even, which is ironic because I feel it all.

I feel a twisted sense of pride that the one thing I've been good at in my life is heartbreak. I think at the very least, I have put myself out there and tried to live and love. And the result of which, every tear, every laugh, and every experience good, bad or otherwise I will write in these pages. I’m sure there will be times you’ll wish you could shake me for the decisions I have made as I stumbled from one screw up to the next.

The reason I’m writing this is not entirely for a potential reader's perverse pleasure of feeling pretty normal compared to my life of mistakes and bad decisions. Many people, if given the choice to be someone else for the day would choose a celebrity or their idol. I would have liked to be someone normal with a happy, simple life and no issues, but then I suppose there are very few people with absolutely nothing that troubles them.

Although I’m now so good at pushing people away, I wonder if anyone would even take the time to read this. To be completely honest, a little part of me just wants to know that if nothing else, at least I’ll be leaving something behind, just to show I was here.

Not every story has a happy ending, real life is hard for lots of people but I guess I'm just too weak to pull through. It took me a long time to come to this decision and I'm not rushing into it just yet, not least because I've never finished anything I started in life. Over the years I've taken up and given up more hobbies, interests, jobs and relationships than I care to count. For this I have to get it right the first time and finish what I've started.

I’m sure there might be those who would be quick to blame my upbringing, believing I couldn’t have been pushed enough as a child and simply learned to admit defeat too soon. And just as equally some might argue I just wasn’t born with strength of character to overcome obstacles.

They could have a field day with the old nature versus nurture debate over how my life has turned out. Personally I’m sat on the fence on this one, but I expect you might have guessed that.

Whatever my reasoning, now I’ve put pen to paper it’s like a drug. It's difficult to describe how I feel now as the words pour from my heart and mind onto the page - maybe it's something similar to the release those who self-harm feel. It's painful to write down everything that I have done and allowed to happen in the past nine years, yet the pain feels strangely good. I know I've been in a dark place and I can't bear the thought of talking to anyone about everything that's happened in my life. The words always catch in my throat and I could win an award for putting on a smile.

I learnt years ago that it causes less pain to those close to me if I just hide my real thoughts and feelings. Not one of my family or my very few friends knows the entire story. Although there are a few who could - if they were to sit down together - possibly piece together the fragments they each know and be closer to knowing my past. There are only two people I’ve known that I think saw more than I wanted them to. I wonder if either had known the truth if they would have let me go sooner when I pushed them away.

Who is this other person? Alex wondered out loud.

But then he suddenly doubted if he had been either of them. Had she written this before or after they had met? If he was one of the people she felt close to, then why did he suddenly feel like he hadn’t really known her at all? And who else would she have opened up to? Alex contemplated if, perhaps, there had been someone in her life he had no knowledge of, and not for the first time he thought he might regret seeking out her diary.

Strangely it’s almost more painful to write this than it has been to go through it. I’ve always done what I can not to dwell on things and just tried to live in the present - some of my Mother's wisdom I actually heed. Perhaps that seems a contradiction since this diary is allowing me to delve into my past, but until today I’ve done my best to forget it all. I can’t bring myself to burden anyone with my troubles - or worse perhaps, I’ve thought they wouldn’t understand. I look forward in life with a sense of apathy, and since I rarely allow my real emotions to filter to the surface, few have gotten close enough to notice.

I've always had reasonably good instincts, but unfortunately coupled with an inability to trust my own judgement and if you believe in such things, then being an indecisive Pisces hasn’t helped either and so I’ve invariably made the wrong choices in life. It would have been nice if I could find something to pin the blame on other than myself – my upbringing, my environment, my genes but it all comes up short.

The way in which I was brought up is to be cherished, as from my earliest memories as a child, I was loved. Although, we were hardly wealthy, we were never left wanting and as the only girl with two brothers I suppose to an extent I was cosseted. Admittedly my Father did leave us when I was nine years old, nevertheless, my proud, beautiful Mother managed to keep her fears hidden and an open heart for her three young children.

I don’t believe any of us really felt as if we missed out on anything. And partly as a result, I carried a ferocious, childlike love for her with me into adulthood. My Mother would probably describe me as wilful on a good day and stubborn on the not so good ones. And although I was close to my brothers in the shared bond of childhood, we have grown apart in the years since. Perhaps that is only natural that we should see less of each other as we figure out our own lives, but most of the time it feels like both my brothers found their paths in life with ease while I stumbled along mine.

As for my genes, my Mother is a force to be reckoned with and I can only wish to have taken after her in that respect. And well, I can't really remark on my Father, as I only remember the unconditional love a child can feel for a parent which makes it difficult to now judge him objectively.

I know very little of my Father’s background before he met my Mother, other than that he is Italian and my first name is a nod to his family heritage along with my dark hair and eyes. My older brother was named after my Mother’s godfather Matthew, and my youngest brother Joshua was let off the hook.

Although my Mother now uses her maiden name Isobel Delmar, my siblings and I still have our Father's surname, perhaps as a reminder that he is still part of us, albeit an estranged part. She kept his name for a long time after he left, we were too young to think of such things and now she rarely speaks of anything related to our Father.

I’m not sure if she was hoping he would return one day, or if she only kept it so she had the same name as her children, but whatever significance it held, as soon as the last of her children became a teenager, she changed it back.

The only Grandparent I have truly known, I loved dearly and unreservedly from the first time I can consciously remember her wrapping me up in a hug as a young child. It wasn’t until I was older that I realised how tiny she really was, and yet I always looked up to her even when the days came that I had to lean down to hug her back.

She was known to her many friends as Eliza but her name was Elizabeth Grace Delmar, and I've always been glad that we shared the same middle name. I earnestly wish I had also inherited my Grandmother’s gracefulness - my Mother got all her strength and elegance from her, but it definitely diluted down the line by the time it got to me.

I’m told that my Grandfather was a gentle, quiet man and passed away during the five years between Matthew’s birth and mine. My Grandmother still wears her wedding ring, although she rarely speaks of him. I’d like to think it’s because she finds it too hard to speak of the man she loved all her years, but I could never be sure.

As children my brothers and I spent most weekends visiting our Grandmother and as different as I am from her, and as much as it saddens me to compare myself to such a great woman I treasure those childhood memories. Grandchildren so often forget that life went on long before they are born but my Grandmother was never one to bring up on her own past. She and I would spend hours together when I was younger discussing the great big questions in life.

In recent years I am ashamed to admit I spent less and less time with her. Perhaps it is because I’ve always felt I am more akin to her than anyone in my family and if she had asked I might have told her everything. And this scares me, not because she would have judged me as I know she wouldn’t but I would never have wanted her to think I was anything less than content and happy. I would rather she believed the lie like everyone else.

We were lucky not to have to share her love as aside from the three of us she had no other grandchildren to dote upon. My Mother is an only child and aside from receiving cards on special occasions, my Father’s family is even more remote from our lives than he is. It might sound fairly idyllic, so anyone would understand my unwillingness to blame my genes or upbringing for how I’ve become what I am.

I wonder would it be easier to sympathise with me if I had grown up in the worst of circumstances - poverty stricken with a prostitute mother and an abusive father. I know not all scars are visible and having a near perfect childhood doesn't guarantee anyone an easy path in life. So I can only conclude that whilst I had a good start in life and the opportunities to have a successful one, it was I who fucked up spectacularly.

I seem to have developed a phobia for commitment to almost everything in life and with no follow through in anything I’ve faltered through life with no particular reason or purpose. And so to date I have lived a fairly meaningless life, have contributed very little to the world and as far as I’m aware, bear little or no significance to most people I’ve come to know.

I know of course I’m not the only one who has had to bear the consequences of their bad decisions. I of all people understand how well pain and regret can be hidden behind a show of contentment. However, there are times when it seems like no one could understand and I feel alone. It's almost impossible not to compare myself to my strong, confident siblings. Matthew is in a healthy relationship with a girl I genuinely like and always speaks optimistically about his career.

Joshua, my angelic, baby brother wanders albeit as aimlessly as I do through life, and yet he does it with such enviable charm and enthusiasm that nothing in life seems to phase him. And my Mother, even after being abandoned by the love of her life is not only a success in her work life, and now that her children are grown up is at least open to the idea of love again. I think I will burn out like a tiny flame - barely noticeable in a room full of brightly burning lights.

Compared to some I guess I've had more than the average number of relationships. I've never been dumped. I’m not bragging, simply stating a fact. Very few people have ever gotten close enough to me to be in an actual, functioning relationship and even then there was always a perfectly valid reason why it should end. I’ve come to realise – or at least believe - love is not the be all and end all in life. Whatever the meaning of life is supposed to be, this time around I think it’s too late for me. I keep thinking of the lyrics in a song I once heard. "
I'll be perfect in my next life...”
I hope so. Because quite frankly, I think I have truly screwed this one up.

Over the years I’ve had many friends who I've just let drift through my life. And then there are those who were more than friends. I wouldn't really use the term 'relationships' since very few of them could fall into that category, but I guess it will have to do for the sake of describing the times I spent with certain people. Some were brief with unkept promises of keeping in touch and others who were in my life for varying periods of time but all eventually coming to an inevitable end.