Rain when I die

The day I tried to end my life is the day where I’d reached a bit more of the bottom than I thought I’d already hit. They say when someone reaches that point and tries to top themselves it’s either after a lot of planning or a flash impulse ‘do it’ mentality. Mine was mostly the latter. As you can tell it didn’t work otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this.

The day had been ok, a bit sleepy but nothing out of the ordinary. Then in the afternoon I received a text from my soon to be former wife. In it she said she had finished the weekend activity and was coming up with something for me. Now previous to this I’d last heard from her back in May and also through the divorcey legal court paperwork that has been trickling through the post box since June. So it was quite the surprise. I knew she wouldn’t come into the house so clothed myself all the while wondering what it was she was coming up to give me. I then went outside to see the old familiar car with its distinctive license plate and her tapping out a text obviously saying that she was now ‘here’.

She saw me and got out and told me what had happened over the weekend. Me being me, stupidly, I went along with the pointless small chit chat, although I dumbstruck at what was happening. She then handed me a bag. In it, she said, was a memory stick of my stuff, pics, etc from the shared computer.

A little bit more chit chat and then she was gone. As I left I cursed myself inwardly, why didn’t you say something? Anything? Something. 
The times I’d done similar in my dreams, wanting to ask her, ‘Are we talking now?’ and, ‘you’ve left me so bereft, why?’ and various other questions. Why didn’t I say something? Deep down I know why. It was because I had very little time to even think of something, anything to say to her. The moment between text and arrival was 5 minutes, which gave me no time whatsoever. Still, I wish I’d said something. I did eventually but more of that later.

I got back to the house and opened up the bag. I saw the memory stick and a photo album.

’Oh,’ thinks me. ‘She must have printed up the photos, how kind.’

I opened it up and found that no, she hadn’t. She’d given me the wedding album. Our wedding album. Stripped of the photos she either wanted or deemed me not suitable to have. But the rest were there, us cutting the cake, signing the registrar. The lot.

I took to bed, wondering why she’d given it to me despite me telling her clearly that I didn’t want it before our parting from our house.

Confusion and hurt reigned. Until about an hour later, watching the rain fall and listening to some Alice in Chains I decided to do it. Everything else that usually stopped me didn’t matter at that point. It felt like it was all for nowt. So nuts to it, I thought. I’m going to do it. The thought of it and where I was going to do it kinda calmed me in an odd way but also, paradoxically, it exhilarated me too.

Off I went, taking some kitchen roll with me, my usual SI tool of choice and a photo of me and her cutting the wedding cake. I stomped up the hill, feeling my heart race, looking at the greenness of the long grass. I stood on top, heart beating fast, thinking how things had led me this way, how deep deep down I always knew it would end this way. I looked around, there were too many dog walkers so I moved off, walking towards the cemetery, annoyed the rain had stopped. At the cemetery I found what relatives I could, my nan etc, and said sorry. Sorry for being a mess of a man and sorry for what I felt like I was about to do.

More wandering as the rain began to fall, looking for places to go and hide, trying to work out what would happen if I got locked in the cemetery, trying not to trap myself in case after I did it and I freaked out and panicked. So after looking at some nature run around, fox, hares (Blimey, they’re big!), I walked towards an area I knew as kid, down a dark lane towards some woods and fields.

Looking back on it the funny thing is I wasn’t sure about walking down the dark lane as I thought I might get run over by a car. Odd eh?

So I wandered down until I found a field away from sight and climbed over into long grass and in my very inconspicuous Great War style coat sat down. I looked at the photo of us and then checked my mobile, missed calls and texts flashed at me. I then led down and nodded off glad to feel the rain fall on my face at last. I think I nodded off and then woke up and after again looking at the photo and leaving a post on Facebook, (Nothing too explicit but more something that alluded to my state of mind) I tried to cut. Thing is it was too dark so I had to use my phone to illuminate my wrist and then it was too tense so I had to relax it to lower the tendons and then the phone went out and blimey, it was awkward. Eventually I cut a bit but nothing damaging. Annoyed I got up and walked back to the hill  that I’d visited earlier, keen to feel wet and cold, walking through the long grass and through bushes and trees along the way. At the hill I stood there and tried again, taunting myself, annoyed that I couldn’t even get it right. I slashed away but not nearly hard enough, thinking it’d be easy to cut, a few cuts and scratches on my wrist at least now visible to me. I slumped to the grass and wondered why I couldn’t do it porperly. I then stumbled to the bottom and went home where I told my mum that I needed help.

After a cup of tea and a muffin, I hadn’t really eaten that day, I was taken up A and E. and whilst waiting my dad had called my auntie and uncle. They were there and at one point my uncle leaned over me and asked if I had pains in the head. I mean, blimey!

After that it was a case of seeing about 5 different med’ types. The crisis team came and went at one point because they didn’t have enough information but eventually returned to discharge me but follow up with a visit on the Tues and me making an appointment with the GP on Monday. I felt a little bit better after been listened to and treated nicely and calmly.

At then, well then I went home, the rain belting down. And me in a state of confusion. I really wanted to be admitted but knew the chances were slim unless I went there with an open wrist wound. It was the early hours and by the time I nodded off I woke up feeling… odd. Almost as if I wasn’t sure if I belonged and where to now?

It’s something I’m still in the middle of. The strongest return of those feelings from Sunday came yesterday whilst out running in the rain. A walk to the cemetery seemed to stall them though.

I texted my former regarding the album and a few other messages of things I wanted to get out, nothing nasty but I put my side down. Responses have been few. Now I suppose I wait until the last bit of the divorce comes through.

Now it’s the aftermath. Or is that recovery? I’m not sure yet.

down in a hole and I don't know if I can be saved