she told me to 'write something'

One month ago a 34-year-old Indiana University of Bloomington student committed suicide. Even though this man was a stranger to me, his death impacted me for a variety of reasons.

First, he took his life on a stretch of railroad tracks on the IU campus -- a section of tracks I pass several times a day, four days a week as part of my bus route. Every time I pass the site of his death, everything inside me settles and the poignancy of the location strikes me.

I've wondered about his final moments as he waited for the roaring machine to bring his demise. He hears the train whistle scream. Below him, the earth rumbles and the sound is getting closer. Did he embrace his death, or did he greet it with a belly full of apprehension. How long had he planned for that September day? Whom did he leave behind?

The stranger's death also brought a familiar melody of empathy to my heart. How many times have I myself stared down that dark tunnel of apathy and hopelessness and longed for death? How many times have I been pushed to the brink of my mortality? The self-inflicted scars on my arm are a testament to the battles I've waged against myself.

Yes, I've been there, and the refrain of empathy that churns within me is one I recognize. This time, however, the strain of empathy sounds different. The chord has changed. The tone and texture have shifted. While I may be able to identify with the thoughts and feelings that can consume and possibly take an individual's life, I cannot empathize with their choice to choose death over life.

And again: I've been there; I have bloodied myself while sinking in the dismal waters of the mind's other side. I lost years -- literally a decade -- waging a war against myself, a conflict in which life was not the cherished prize. No, life was to be repudiated and death praised.

Yes, I wanted to kill myself (or so I thought).

I spent countless hours conceiving plans and schemes to kill myself. I wrote rough drafts of suicide notes (yes, I'm that neurotic). I examined my life insurance policy for a suicide clause, and, upon finding such a clause, formulated various "accidents" to end my life. I researched Heath Ledger's death to discover the cocktail of prescription and over-the-counter drugs to ensure eternal peace. I purchased a 9mm pistol to serve a sole purpose: a suicide machine. And I could continue. I could flood this post with the sad but true tales of self-loathing and desperation.

But I've spent enough time dwelling on such melancholic thoughts. Too much time, in fact.

As I stated earlier, I lost a decade of my life fighting, and nearly succumbing to, mental illness. I'm 30 years old and much of my 20s are a blur. The memories are few, and many of the things I can recall are not memorable. While this fact saddens me, it simultaneously strengthens me because now, more than ever before, I can see the causes and effects of pro-active behavior versus reactive behavior. Since I have made the conscious decision to battle my illnesses and not myself, I've been able to picture a future in which I'm a living and active participant and not a drugged hospital patient or, even worse, six feet underground.

I'm sure some people will doubt my latest "revelation." All one has to do is scour the past entries of this blog to find "new chapters" and "fresh beginnings." But this rebirth did not find its genesis in some faux spiritual awakening or self-help book. This renewal could not have been perpetrated by an outside force. Sometimes, one has to face the possibility of losing literally everything before he or she can find the strength to persevere (pardon the cliche).

Sometimes, all one needs is a spark. A source of ignition. Motivation. Hope. It may be the kiss of a crisp autumn breeze. Perhaps it's a star-laced sky at dusk. Or, as in my case, it's the presence of a past lover that time couldn't forget. I owe much of my progress to beloved L. Despite my past mistakes, she has given me another chance to be the man I'm capable of becoming, and, more important, she has given me the inspiration to fight through that which hinders and restricts me. I can state with complete conviction that my future includes both of us -- together.

What else could my future hold? I'm giving serious consideration to furthering my education and becoming a registered nurse (RN). I could earn an Associate of Science in Nursing degree in two years if I enroll in a local community college. I would then have the option of working toward a Bachelor of Science in Nursing degree (BSN) by completing an RN-to-BSN program once I take an entry-level position.

As an RN, I could work practically anywhere and enjoy a stable income in an expanding field.

I'm acutely aware of my manic personality, so before I take the RN route, I need to give this possibility careful study. Among other things, I'll need to consider the work load of balancing a 35 hour work schedule with a full-time class schedule.



This concludes tonight's post. As always, any and all comments are welcomed. (I would like to hear from the German girl and how she is enjoying the East coast, family life, etc. Leave a comment or e-mail me.)

xx