The day you’re about to die, you walk around in your room for hours hoping to clear your head from all thoughts attacking you left and right like blood-sucking mosquitoes. Your head aches with the effort of thinking and you wish you would just shut down and stop thinking for a while. You bury your head in your hands as indecision swamps you from all angles, the knife in your right hand, the sniper on the left and the rope tied on the ceiling. You can’t decide which death would be faster.
Your life flashes before your eyes and you feel like you’ve wasted it. You wish you could go back in time to patch things up but you know it would only make things worse, so you’re stuck with this comical imitation of life that you try to make sense of. People notice your withdrawal but nobody seems to get through, it’s like you’re locked in a world you alone exist in. A world void of happiness and laughter, gaeity and sunshine. Only dark shadows and bleary weather to remind you of what once was.
The day you’re to die, you reach your lowest point, alone and separated from the rest of the world; you battle with decisions that will change your life forever. You stare at the knife, stare at it for a long time. Examine the sniper and caress it fondly, as one would a beloved kitten. Then you push it all away from you as your decision is made.
You reach the lowest point of your life but choose to stand up and continue the fight for one more day again. One more day you tell yourself and another and another till a year has passed and you don’t realize. You no longer feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, you begin to believe in yourself and reach out.
The day you’re about to die is the day you truly begin to live again.