The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - the living dead

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

I used to be a loner since forever. A loner and an introvert. I had nothing against being a somehow functional member of the society and, surprisingly, I was part of various groups, sometimes antagonist groups of people. Sometimes I even had people belonging to different groups get together on social occasions and then enjoyed to discussions arisen from the individuals’ discrepancies brought to the surface especially by alcohol. I could always navigate graciously the meanders of social interaction, but never felt that I belonged. Not to any group, not a specific place, not to anyone.

Since I was in my teens, I had this recurring dream, probably like many others: I used walk in a green field or a forest, with no apparent purpose, simply enjoying the scenery and most of the time I met a ‘her’. We would talk and she would clad me with a feeling of security and she would speak my language in a soothing tone. She would simply understand and complete me, and I would be able to share pieces of the real me, let the veils fall, and grow the intimacy of late night hour chats, heart to heart, soul to soul. In my dreams, ‘she’ actually never spoke and more importantly, I never

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Tuesday

God's playground

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

I looked around at people with beliefs: Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Pagans and so on and so forth. They all believe that there is a Heaven and a Hell, and that access to either is granted on grounds of some moral issues, acts if you want. It's not so relevant whether access to either is granted during this life or the other, what is relevant: it always requires some sort of passage ritual, preparation and all, especially the access to Paradise or Nirvana or whatever one may call it.

For me paradise was that day I decided suicide is the key, the answer to all my questions. It was a paradise I didn't know how to access until it was somehow presented to me. Now I realize that I managed to get there myself, on my own, without any help, yet I didn't know what I was doing. It was pure bliss what I felt

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Wednesday

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

If it's Wednesday, it's therapy day, only today it isn't. I just couldn't pull myself together to get off the floor and do anything. Since Saturday. Most of the time, I curled up on the floor and just lay there, waiting for it to pass. I'm not even sure what triggered this breakdown, maybe a phone call coming from my old friends who tried to cheer me up and take me out for the night, maybe the contemplation of a completely useless social interaction, who can tell? 

What's for sure is the fact that I got this glimpse of a completely useless act I've been tempted to perform or be part of and from there it all went out of control, the void spread in my brain and brought me down with the realization that nothing was really worth trying anymore as if I've seen it all and nothing would matter anymore. So I crawled under a blanket and there I lay for a couple of days drifting in and out of some sort of revery or slumber; I wasn't even sure whether I was asleep or awake. I heard my phone ringing until the battery was dead, and the usual wife beating neighbour from upstairs, but that was pretty much all I can recall.

Then, I had to tend to my bodily functions, so I tried to eat something, but my guts recoiled in horror, so all the food went back the way it entered my body. During my laying there I must have lost control of my bladder, because I smelled a heavy stench surrounding me and my pants were stained and the floor was sticky and covered with some unidentified,

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Wednesday

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal

This Wednesday's therapy session started to pull out some interesting feelings and facts from my past which bring me to the idea that I was dwelling in that morbid grey area of life, only I refused to recognize it, apart from it's very surface.

The therapist asked me whether I had encountered suicide as an act ever committed by any acquaintance or friend before in my life. To my surprise, I realized that I've seen death in quite a few forms, either we stood shoulder to shoulder witnessing the sudden proof of mortality, or we had met as antagonist characters on live's stage,  but I never bothered to give it too much thought so far.
Today's chapter might as well be called 'Pride', it's about a girl I used to know. Here goes.

Christie was one of those weird religious type characters. In terms of religiousness, she was holier than thou, if there ever existed anyone like that. She was really serious about the mumble jumble about the one who is actually three and how he came

Today's useless thought

People do really weird things when they're continuously judged instead of just being loved.

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Sunday

My autumn

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

It was a long weekend. Long and painful and revealing as I try to cope with this reality and my new way of life. At last, I can immerse into the solitude which now I realize has always been there, only I was too afraid to come to terms with myself back in those days. 

I was lonely and I thought that social life would alleviate my desperate craving for something undefined, yet not socially related: being not alone was a smoke screen I put up to mask the need to meet the real me and I did that by feeling I owed something to others (friends, acquaintances). I didn't want to let them down and mostly, I didn't want to be considered weird and marginalized, although deep down I was completely uncomfortable with all that social interaction. Luckily, my concealment skills served my well to create the perfect camouflage so that no one could even get a glimpse of what was hidden underneath my smiling and joyful surface. Inside, actually, I was hurting, mostly for not having

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Wednesday


from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

Trigger. Yesterday, in therapy session, I managed to regress towards the point that changed my life one hundred and eighty degrees. Ground zero. When I tried to end it and where I managed to start something else instead. Near death. Life.  

Up until now, I was reluctant to even try to remember the day before I took that final step, some sort of anxiety combined with the feeling that I have lost something I will never have again, something very dear and valuable; lately, after disabling all the firewalls I put up in order to able to cope with the environment, it started to feel as if it never really happened to me, so I could try and open up about conditions and other issues that drove me to that point.

After waking up on the hospital bed, I could not remember anything. I remember things prior to my

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - we are


we are never prepared for anything, but always ready to chase after illusions.

we are always on guard against being hurt, but never really do anything to prevent it.

we are bitter and secluded, we divide ourselves between preparing for pain and the reality of it, because it's most likely to

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Friday

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

Before trying to commit suicide, I used to be scared shitless for most of the time. Scared of what I am tempted and inclined to do, scared about what I might have lost, scared of what I had or owned, scared knowing that I have constructed a pattern that I wouldn't give up, scared of hurting all the people in my life, scared of regretting doing so, scared of the ensuing anger and self loathing, scared of this entire repeating vicious circle, scared of myself and scared of what's out there. To top that, the self-loathing found new nourishment everyday and the hating myself became my favourite sport.

I wasn't even depressed, I somehow managed to function as an individual in social life, at work, with family and friends, I never gave out any signs of weird behaviour that would raise eyebrows and incite people to ask my whether I was OK or not. Confusion is the least to try and describe what was going through my mind, except for the fact that I couldn't find a reason for all that. I was agitated and my mind raced needlessly through

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Wednesday

Purging fire

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

It's Wednesday again, so it's therapy session time. Actually, it was time for that and I start to see these sessions as some sort of a new torment I need to undergo to achieve something I am not really sure it can be achieved. Plus, they are mandatory. My therapist calls it catharsis, the celebrated process of purging and obtaining relief from strong and repressed emotions. Sometimes I feel that I am not going to make through all this shit, I mean, digging deep into my past to find out whatever took me to take the step towards the point of no return, re-living all those horrendous memories I have tried so much to bury and separate myself from. 

During this session, we explored my resentment and resistance to any kind of authority, especially to any imposed type. My parents were quite nifty in bringing me up; they cultivated my curiosity by encouraging me to ask questions and not to be necessarily satisfied with the answers I got. I used to be the type of child/teenager who could go on forever inquiring about pretty much anything, then annoying the soul out of my counterparts by proceeding to need further explanations as to why those answers would be correct  and not some other variants. This would serve me later, when
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