2013 Nov 13
Until the tilde, all true.
The woods are quiet at night, but not silent. I can hear two owls if I move south of where I sit, but there's less of a barrier over there, between the path and traffic. The last thing I need right now is a reminder of civilization.
The moon is waning and far from full, but the sky is cloud-free. Even still, I can hardly see the stars for all the light pollution. Shy of riding out for hours, this is the darkest and quietest place.
I came here to think about killing myself.
This isn't a new revelation. If you know me--though you probably don't, no matter how much you may think otherwise--you know I'm not a happy person; I never have been. HER death was something of an awakening to how bad I get, to myself and to my family, but they still can't understand.
The worst part is, when I'm happy--or rather, happy-for-me, which is about level with contentness for most people--I feel closer to it. I feel closer to being ready. I feel more needful of the end when I'm low, but I feel more ready to let it all go when I'm up.
And that's when I'd come out here, like I did tonight. I sit here in the cold and the near-darkness, underneath trees and beside a river, alone to my thoughts. I'd ride my bike out--no car for this pilgramage--to these woods. This is where I'd do it, I think, when the time came. I'm not sure I'm ready yet, not tonight, I think to myself, but that doesn't prompt me to stand up, dust myself off, pack up, and head back. I'll sit a little longer.
On the way out this time, I heard those owls I mentioned earlier, a sound I haven't heard in ages. And when I dove into this side-track, not even a hundred feet off the main path, but a hundred times more secluded, I thought I caught the shape of a canine head in the brush out of the corner of my eye as my headlight lit it up for the barest moment.
A shiver descended instinctively along my spine, and a cold sweat started to bead out on my back before I quelled it with rational thought: I came out here to think about killing myself, maybe even actually do it; why am I afraid of something else doing the deed for me? The chill stopped then, banished for the night, and though I caught more suggestive shapes, the chill caused by fear did not return.
That's not to say I didn't shiver. It was cold out there, and though I dressed warm enough for the ride, I wasn't riding. I was sitting and thinking. Though that might be an excertion for some, it wasn't for me.
I wanted to go out on a high note. That was the clincher. It seemed easier to off myself when I had some happiness, some success under my belt, giving strength to my convictions. I always had that certainty lurking that it would get bad again, and I wouldn't have to wait terribly long for that to happen. When you've lived with depression as long as I have, that hardly counts as prophetic.
There was a breeze blowing, and my mind was filtering its whispering out as white noise; the owls were too far off, and traffic from the highway was competely blocked by the trees behind me. Only when a train passed by did I feel less than alone...
~
...until there was a crunch in the brush behind me, the whining of branches rubbing against each other outside the rhythm of the wind. My ears tuned in sharper, as my eyes lost focus and slowly closed of their own accord; I tuned myself in to without, and out of within.
Soft panting breaths joined the subtle symphony. I didn't move, even as they drew closer. The nose sniffed sharply, then exhaled slowly. I sat as still as I have ever, steadying the shiver that was once again trying to steal over me; my heartbeat was surprisingly steady.
Warm air pulsed through the spare cracks in my clothing on the back of my neck. I sighed, smiled grimly, and slowly tilted my head to the side. The padded feet scampered back, timid. I laid back, heedless of what refuse might sit on the ground behind me, and tilted my head up.
/Go ahead, take me, I shouted inside my head.
The feet crept closer once again.
My eyes stayed closed, and I waited.
A leg brushed the side of my head, dislodging my hat and pulling at some of my hair. Warm breath descended on my face, and I exhaled slowly, introducing the smell of my breath and a recent snack to my visitor.
^Why?
The thought didn't come from my own mind, but it still hung there, wondering.
^Why?
/Why what?
^Why?
/Are you going to attack me?
^Not hungry.
/Oh.
^Why?
/Endless pain. Endless sorrow. I'm weak. I'm alone.
^Not weak. Not alone.
/What?
A tongue crossed my face, and I sat up, startled and sputtering. The feet skittered back again, still timid, but not as far this time. I extended one of my arms behind me, palm up. Slowly, warm breaths approached it, and then a furry ear pressed against it. I scratched it gently, and it eased closer as I retracted my arm.
/Sorry. I'll try to move slower.
^Why?
/Why what?
^No smell of fear.
/What do I have to fear?
^Me.
/I came out here to die. The worst you can do is help. I have nothing to fear of death.
Images tumbled through my head in a flood, some of them mine, some of them not. They told a story of companionship, and the loss of it. When my first love appeared, the body pressed against me, and I could feel its heartbeat racing.
^No fear of death. Love Death. Her Death.
/Yes, she's dead.
^No. She dead and Death. Death dead. Dead Death. Dream and Death.
With the mention of Dream, images of my long favorite author and writer flooded onto the floodplains of my memory.
/She's...
^Yes.
I jerked again, but this time the body stayed with me, came with me, pressed against me, wrapped around me. The warmth was comforting, reassuring.
/Why?
The touch in my mind retreated. It was still there, caressing mine, but wordless.
^Go home.
/What?
^No fur. Go home. Cold.
The head nudged me toward my bicycle.
^Go.
/What about you?
^I'll be here when you need me.
At here, it stroked my psyche lovingly.
/Okay. Thank you.
I opened my eyes, stood, pulled my hat and my helmet back on, turned the lights on my bicycle back on, and climbed on. Only then did I look at my companion. She was a full grown coyote, once white but stained with dirt and grass. She nudged my leg.
^Go.
/Run with me? Just part of the way? Please?
^Too bright.
I turned of my headlight, but left the rest glowing gently.
/Better?
^Race!
She took off, and I laughed, pounded on my pedals, and tried to catch up.