Anatomy of My Suicide

Anatomy of My Suicide by Mike Marino

 Ever since I first wrote this I get many emails and IM's about other people who also suffer from depression, Some minor bouts, some serious and I usually send this to them...you are not alone, and the battle can be won. 

Contrary to the song, Suicide is not painless. It’s murder of self that can’t be explained...It can strike anyone, and fame and fortune is not a hedge against it. Hemingway, Thompson, Robin Williams...all had the world by the balls, on the surface, but in reality the world had them by the balls...It’s a steamy jungle where you can’t see 10 feet in front of you...when the bus stops to pick you up...there are no transfers...you go all the way to the end of the line..to the appropriately named..”terminal”

Could be an incurable disease that will steal life and love from you and the sense of loss of life and love wrenched from your hands against your will makes your head pound and ponder, as you wonder and wander.

Close your eyes and see the beauty of life and love..open them and you see only your own reflection..your name on some invisible memorial wall. Your walk becomes weary and your mind moves in slow motion frame by frame into a film noir sequence, dark, slow..as you swim upstream like some insane salmon with a asylum agenda...your walk takes you against the tide of life, against the downward flow of a thousand liquid rain children freely falling from the skies, falling and bouncing down the stairs and then out onto the street. You dodge them artfully as you tread deftly, as though they were, and they are, projectiles from space, fired from the moon at the behest of a beast from the outer rings of Saturn.

Your life of manic ups and downs, uppers and downers becomes crippled, battered, embattled….the mirror reflection is that of empty eye sockets and you are already in an emotional body bag in an enclosed alley from which there is no escape imprisoned in an psychological wheelchair and straightjacket while hopped up on narco midnight pills interjecting injections of sweet dreamy morphine. Drugs and alcohol inducing calm or can increase the manic desire so the self murderer can circumnavigate your own private Polar Ice Caps, past giant icebergs, round and round the Cape we go, circular explorations they are, easy to negotiate, except for those 90 degree corners of fleeting reality that appeared only as more hallucinations obscuring what they really were. Those recesses, the corners, the 90 degree forks in the emotional road, are illuminated in deep shadow by electric currents, pulsating and twitching.

A broken mirror fires back olfactory warning shots over the head trying to blast through rocks to make a tunnel through the mountain of depression..some will make it to the summit...others will plunge to their death....eating a pile of pills or loading a gun...racing to meet the inevitable anyway.

Soon the film of your life ends as you fade to black...Finis!
Fight...win the battle with life and love, friends and family and the power within!