Almost Gone

It was perfect; the perfect place for what I was planning to do. It was a very rural area in the already quite rural area in which I lived. A path down from the main road, going down and circling around to a secluded area with trees. No one would find me there; not for a long time. I carefully checked it out on a sunny day, but I thought rain would be perfect. Rain would make it even better, because people in southern California hate to go out in the rain and will avoid doing so at all costs. No one would see me, and by the time I was found, it would all be over.

This was no plea for attention. I would do it right. I would not be one of those hysterical women you see in the melodramas, their wrists bandaged, their faces all red and swollen from crying. I shopped for straight razor blades, sharp ones that would the job quickly. For years I had used toothache gel on my eyebrows when I plucked them, so I packed some of that to numb the skin before I cut, just in case the pain freaked me out and I couldn't go through with it. I had some liquor, too; I don't remember what it was, but something I could drink straight and quickly to give myself courage.

Some say that suicides are cowards. Having almost been one, I would completely disagree. No one knew the kind of pain I was in, and it is a testament to how far my then-husband and I had drifted apart, that months later when he screamed at me, "How do you live with yourself?" I told him how I almost didn't live at all. He was shocked. He had no idea. I knew the people who loved me would be sad for a while, but really everyone would be better off without me.

I fantasized about fading to black. Cool, dark oblivion; the kind that never presented itself in my sleep. It would be good to have it over. I truly felt hopeless, that the circumstances in my life were so dire and I saw no way out. But I don't think that alone would have made me so carefully plan my own death.

What really cinched the deal for me was that I felt worthless, as if I didn't even deserve to live. My mother had been dead for years, but I could still hear her voice. You were a mistake. I wish you were never born. You are stupid. You are ugly. You have ruined my life. I fought against that for years, then there I was in my early 40's with my life in shambles, and I started to think. Maybe she was right. Yeah. She probably was.

The rain I had hoped for started that morning; lots and lots of rain that we don't normally get here. I had everything I needed in my purse, and spent the morning working at the small business we owned. I was by myself, and while I usually never left, occasionally I did go out from 12-1 to run errands during the lunch hour. None of my customers would find it odd to see a sign on the door indicating that I was out to lunch till 1.

The note I left on my desk for my husband was short and terse and said where the car was parked and where I could be found. By the time I would be missed, by the time there would be any concern that I wasn't answering my cell, I would be gone. Long gone. And that would be good. Very good.

I locked up at 12:00 and drove to the place I had planned and carefully parked the car. My things in my purse, I put the hood up on my raincoat and got out. I looked around, and there was no one around. No one at all. Perfect.

I was all alone. Then when I was about halfway down the path, I heard a woman's voice calling out. She was hunched over, with a heavy jacket on and an umbrella in her hand, up on the main road, but moving fast toward me.  I wanted to ignore her, but sensed she would not just let me go. "Hello?" she yelled, and I turned to watch her walk quickly down the path toward me. "Are you lost?" she asked, and as she got closer, she said, "Are you okay?" I said nothing. We just stood there looking at each other, and then she gestured with her hand, the one that was not holding the umbrella. She pointed toward where I had been walking, and said, "You know; that doesn't go anywhere."

I turned reluctantly and began walking back to my car. I don't remember if she said anything else. I don't recall if I said anything to her. She followed me back up and watched me drive away, standing there watching my tail lights disappear. I went back to the office. It wasn't even 1:00 yet. I dried off with some paper towels and put on the heat and listened to the voice mail and went about my work day.

That was eleven years ago, and I'm still here. I would love to tell you that my life got so much better. But it didn't. The dire circumstances that had crushed me to the point where I was almost gone did not improve. In fact, they got a lot worse and it would be a couple of years before I saw any improvement at all, and several years before I was truly happy again.

I have no idea who the woman with the umbrella was. I never saw her before and never saw her since. Of course, what she said to me had two meanings and you probably already caught that. Not only did the path I was walking on not go anywhere, but killing myself was not a solution.

And as bad as things got after that, I knew in a matter-of-fact and logical kind of way that killing myself was not the answer to anything. That nothing in my life, no matter how miserable it made me, was worth dying over. Even as I write this, I find myself very dispassionately telling you this story as if we are talking about another woman, some other Susan.

That's how it feels. Was I ever that unhappy? Did I ever feel that hopeless and worthless? I know I did, but it seems like some other lifetime, so long, long ago.

Those who believe in angels would say that woman with the umbrella that day was surely mine. Whoever she is, I will forever be grateful for the way in which she pointed out to me the obvious, in a way that would reach me. Had she not appeared on that path that day, I am absolutely certain I would have killed myself.

Sometimes life is just awful; unbearable. It felt that way to me, but let me tell you how delighted, absolutely delighted, I am to be here. It was a near-death experience. One of my own making; that's for sure, but it changed me. I was almost gone. And I came back.

Not everyone is as lucky as I am, and I know that. There are those who have lifelong struggles with depression, a very real and true disease. They can't just pull themselves up by their bootstraps and be happy. Mine was situational depression, and the only mental condition I have been diagnosed with is a very mild case of post-traumatic stress disorder that likely began when I was a child and was triggered by my marriage. Please don't misunderstand me; I am not saying that it can be for others the way it was for me. But it changed the way I view life, something I wrote about in Focus.

People love me, and those who dislike me usually do so because of jealousy. Are you laughing? I know it sounds ridiculously arrogant, but I have light and love and laughter and I share it as fully as I am capable of doing at this point in my life. How far I had strayed from who I am at my core, when I chose to think that this world would be better off without me.

I had been thinking about writing this for a long time. There is shame involved in sharing this story, that only a few people in my real life even know about. I didn't want to write about it, yet I knew I should. How can I tell you the story of me and not tell you how I was almost gone? Then a friend shared the story of an acquaintance who had taken his life, and I knew I had no choice but to tell you my story.

Suicides are sometimes judged harshly, and their loved ones carry a lot of guilt and heavy burdens. I would say to those who want to judge, who want to call them cowards, or selfish, or those religions who say they are damned, wait before you judge. Maybe you don't understand. Maybe you can't understand, unless you have walked down that path that doesn't go anywhere.

Susan