To Die Or Not To Die

It was a sunny day and I was going for an eleven o clock class. I looked towards the dead road as I walked, I envied the path the cars passed. If only I could become the road; nothing but stillness and pause for all eternity, the rest I would feel.

I crossed the path over the gutter to the faculty grounds and I glanced at the deep gutter streaming water into an even deeper ditch, grave thoughts sprouted in my mind. I had passed this path too many times to count. But this time, I wondered; if I slipped just right, would I die? 

At that moment, it hit me; I had become someone waiting for death. I craved it in everything I saw and everything that moved. But, I had many chances. What stopped me, I wondered. 

In my religion I have come to believe in suicide as no answer. Spiritual law I'm told says; if one commits suicide, they will be reborn in seven days and live a life that will lead them back to that same situation they committed suicide to escape. They will be stuck in this cycle till they overcome it. 

Even religion was not on my side. Ha.. But spiritual law also states that one could leave his or her physical body and the physical world when he wishes. Death is a choice, it says. Well, we can try that. 

How laughable a situation when one begs to die, and puts it into prayer. How laughable when one gets angry with God not for the pain of life lived, but for wish not granted to return to earth. 

It has been long since I put thoughts to words on this blog. Mostly because I did not know what I wanted to say. Even after taking time to sort my thoughts, I cannot even understand the level of pain that tortured me for so long, could not truly explain what I thought I knew about being burnt even though I had walked the searing flames myself. 

We all like to think we have been on that edge before. But have we really? Has the need to cross worlds ever truly invaded your mind like a thief at night, even when it is not up for contemplation? 

To die or not to die. No matter how many times I cut my arm and swam in the pain letting it float my mind like a girl on drugs, slammed my head into a wall over and over yet could not feel the blood trickling down my temple, the worry that crept into my mind was always simple; my books. 

Ha, you would think when one was close to death they would see their love ones and worry about their feelings, a desperate last attempt to not cross over the edge. But what if you have made peace with their pain? No matter how many times you play the movie of their reaction when they hear of your passing, the pain that this action could inflict, each time, your pain to live much greater. They will move on, you tell yourself. They will forget, I usually say. Yet so close to make that leap and my books cross my mind. My final regret. 

I was only at this point between life and death because of the need to write. So simple, yet complicated. The need to explain that I cannot be what I am asked to be or accept that I wish to become a scorned stain in traditional eyes. My greatest fear, not to fear, but to settle.  My limitations, a wall I am demanded to drill through, at most paint white to match those of the peeking neighbours.

Yet,  between two worlds, my only regret; the stories I never wrote, those written but incomplete. The pain of those who will be left behind, curse it all! The books; what about the books? 

To die or not to die. The thin thread between two worlds a line girl walked for two years. Yearning for one side, yet too much regret left on the other.