She sits in her car, waiting for the light to change, her depression all around her like a fog. It thickens as her thoughts become darker. She’s not really thinking suicide; it’s more an abstract thought. But, she still reaches across with her right hand, as if holding a sharp object, and runs her hand down the inside of her arm. Not across the wrist, but down her arm. She’s seen enough movies, heard enough about it to know that if you’re really going to take your life, you don’t slash cross the wrist, you run the knife down the arm, following your veins.
The light changes, and her car moves forward. Tears roll down her cheeks. Too often, she feels like this. Friends say she has the right to feel this way. Losing someone you’ve spent the last 19 years with is not an easy thing, by any stretch of the imagination. Even if she hated him, she didn’t, not even a little; it would probably be a hard thing. But she didn’t hate him. She loved him. He annoyed her, he loved her, he made her understand who she really was. And now he was gone.
Traffic flowed around her; she kept up with it, but tears still streamed. Suicide was not the answer. It wouldn’t solve anything.
Then she realized, that was bullshit. Suicide would solve all her problems. She would no longer feel. No pain, no love, no tears, nothing. No emotions, no thoughts. Nothing. Not even emptiness. Just nothing.
It was everyone else that would have to deal with it. Just like she had to deal with his death.
The thought was still abstract; she wasn’t going to take her own life. She was too young and there were too many things she had yet to do. She wasn’t done yet. But it was still bullshit that suicide would solve nothing.
She wiped away more tears, trying hard no to allow the pain to interfere with her driving. The box of tissues is, of course, in the back seat, nowhere close enough to grab. She still wipes her fingers across her eyes, catching the wetness, wanting to be able to wipe away her pain just as easily.
Suddenly, a question pops into her mind: Is this worth it? Was 19 years with him worth the past 6 months of pain? Yes.
The answer is immediate, but not a surprise. The pain is overwhelming sometimes, overbearing and feels never ending, but yes, it’s worth it.
Even the abstract thoughts of suicide are probably worth it. He was a wonderful person, and he was loved. As was she.