I’ve been thinking about killing myself lately. Selfish, I know, but the depression that has haunted me since I was a teenager has taken me over with a vengeance. Like snake venom, it has paralyzed limbs, deadened nerves, and made its poisonous way through me. Not once but four times in the last two weeks have I sobbed, wept and screamed for several minutes, thoughts of bridges, pills, and those sharp Cutco knives flashing in my mind. I’ve talked myself out of any drastic actions by praying, pleading with God, and visualizing the reactions of my Mami, Dad, Bro, Sis, Best Friends, my boy, and even the latest romantic possibility. Last night was the worst yet. I woke up at 2am, cleaned my room, and cried myself to sleep. I woke up again at 5am, told myself time was up, snapped on the lights, intent on getting dressed and taking the matter of messy me into my own shaky hands. But I stopped myself.
I spent the afternoon with Play Brother. He is still thin, pale, yellow, pained. He hates his liver because it is useless and it makes eating difficult. But he walks on, even if he has to place his hand on our shoulders to steady himself. He still reclines in the sunlight, reads aloud the Valentines his fellow teachers sent him with a slighly sardonic tone. When he hugs me, I feel his devotion but most of all, his life. How strong it is, despite the weakness of the body. I hug back just as tightly, despite the weakness of my heart. Deep down, below the foundation of gloom, I have the strength of an entire nation.
They say antivenin hurts. It is made with the same poison found in the viper’s fangs so it probably sears nerves. My love for Play Brother, and my love for life, is still very much here. It is time to take measures, however painful, to heal.