Suicide Rainbows-Part 1

Said I gotta do better, I gotta do better, I gotta

Pick up the pieces and master the puzzle upon us

Look the man in the mirror in the eye and be honest

Slow down time, get back in line with my chakras

Reach for the galaxy…

-Ab Soul, ‘Do Better’

A long time ago, Langston Hughes posed a powerful question.

“What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?”

As I sat there on the beach in Kuta, Bali with the moon looming over me, the question marched forward with a brooding sense of finality.

It had been 24 hours since my last suicide attempt. Before that, it had been 10 years since I flooded my body with a river of painkillers and vodka, looking for a way out. As it had been the case several times before, Death would not grant me an audience. It would linger somewhere along the edges of my existence as a silent observer.

In the gloaming of my solitude, the depths of drink and depression merged like lovers in blissful rapture. The darkness would eventually dissipate and surrender to the light of morning. This routine would often find me waking up on the floor of my apartment in a pool of my own filth and vomit, cursing out God for not letting me die. 10 years since I’d dared my Father to grant me peace and take me home, I was still teetering along the edge, flirting with that final kiss which remained elusive.

While sitting there under a moonlit sky decorated with what I perceived to be tiny windows into a Heaven not meant for me, I began to feel that I’d finally reached last call for drinks. While it certainly wasn’t the life I wanted, the years had left me a beleaguered percentage of the man I’d always hoped to become. The image of ‘him’, that fantasy was now nothing more than a faint reflection in the mirror that I did not recognize.

When reaching the end of one’s life, there’s not as much fear as one might think. When all options have been exhausted and it feels better to let go, there’s a sobering sense of closure that seeps through the psyche.

Certainly, the regrets and transgressions are there, but you make peace with them as if saying goodbye to friends, knowing you’ll never see them again. Parting ways far into the sunlight of a hopeful tomorrow, you walk away knowing that it will all be over soon…

“You mind if I sit here for a minute?”

I acknowledged her presence only out of habit; an act of being cordial during what I desired to be my final moments in this life. While gazing up at the moon, appreciating it in ways never before, she appeared from behind. Removing her motorcycle helmet, she sat mere inches away from me. Friendly in her demeanor, she greeted me with a warm smile and offered me a cigarette.

Finally…a vice that I wasn’t guilty of. I politely declined.

There were occasions where I could’ve used a friendly face and casual conversation, but this wasn’t one of them. Replaying the events of the last 24 hours in my head, my palette was still salty from the waters of the Indian Ocean. 24 hours ago, I’d tried to drown myself in this very spot. Still dangling around my neck was a waterproof pouch containing my cellphone and passport. I’d read multiple stories of people who drowned in Bali due to the rip currents. I prayed to be swept away in those same waters. If I was lucky, the pouch and its contents would be the only remaining proof of who I was.

As fate would have it, the further I attempted to go into the ocean, the stronger the waters were at pushing me back. Breaking my spirit and leaving me a desolate excuse for a soul, I’d wandered back to my budget-friendly Air B&B lost in a limbo of salty tears and memories of loss and pain.

How low does one have to go in life when you can’t even die correctly???

“You come to Bali often?”

For a moment, I was too preoccupied with the plan I’d concocted for my inevitable suicide. Kuta Beach was a long stretch of sand laced with trash, tourists, Australian expats, and stray dogs not far from the airport. At night, there were pockets of dimly lit areas where one could either drown themselves or as a second option, open the arteries in the neck courtesy of any of the broken beer bottles strewn about from both tourists and locals alike.

During my time there, multiple locals tried to sell me drugs but I’d been down that road multiple times with no success whatsoever. Even though Indonesia had very strict laws pertaining to drugs including the death penalty, it seemed the universe would find a way to get me out of that one as well. To my poor assessment, it was late on a Saturday night. Too many people around for me to have much space to myself. All I wanted was to be alone with my final thoughts and get this over with. As the woman continued to stare and smile in my direction, it would appear the universe had other plans…

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART TWO…