Morbid Mind

This post alludes to suicide and could be triggering for some readers.

What was a body, anyway? It was his home, certainly, though not a very pleasant one, or one that he particularly liked. And it wasn’t permanent, not that he wanted it to be. It would rot, eventually, and then what would become of him? What would become of his soul? His very essence? That was what concerned him, that he might discard of this body and not have the fortune of finding another. It troubled him.

There was of course, also the problem of those left behind. That would always be a problem. It would be something he’d have to deal with, no matter his age, no matter how he departed from this world. Or not him, his body, he reminded himself. It was only his body that he would be leaving.

Was it only his body? He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t want to make such a fatal decision without being certain of that. It was this mind he wanted to be rid of. This mind within this body. Only then could he be free, free to do whatever he felt like. Whether that was gazing upon the world as a star or coming back in a new body, a fresh made skin. Well, to be fair, it wasn’t his mind he wanted to be rid of, exactly. It was the thing inside his mind. It festered, it thrived within him, and he feared that if he didn’t do something about it, then it would only grow like a fungus. It was a living thing of the infernal.

It was a beast breathing fire in his mind, burning, and smiting. It was a terror smashing a glass bowl in a thousand pieces on the floor, laughing as he scrambled to put the pieces back together.

Those pieces cut at him. They tore his palms apart. And even as the blood poured and the shards bit, still – still – he tried to gather those shattered fragments. He didn’t know how he could fix those pieces – fix himself – when this thing was a weight pressing on his chest, a great and heavy burden.

He’d had to shoulder it and try to find a way to live with it. He’d had no choice; he had to keep going. One foot in front of the other, and though the sea beckoned to him he moved forward, ever aware of this beast, this thing. There were times he thought he had it handled, when he believed that he would be okay. That though this thing made him want to disappear, to shed his body and embrace whatever came after, he felt that he could survive it, alone. He had to do it alone. How could anyone else be expected to help him? It would be unfair to ask that of them, to ask them to help him carry this burden. So, he had told himself that he alone could do it, that he could carry this this burden, this thing, as a bride to her bed and roll with it for all his years.

He couldn’t though, he realised that now. Was it shame or relief that came over him at this realisation?

It didn’t matter. He could only see one way through. It seemed that the best thing he could do to protect those he loved from this thing, and to free himself, was simply, to leave.

That solution was too simple though; it didn’t solve his question. What was a body? Was it more than his home? Perhaps it was intwined with his soul in a mortal dance, each inseparable from the other, and when one failed the other did too. If that was the case, he couldn’t take the risk of freedom, because he didn’t know if it was what he imagined it to be.

And if he really interrogated himself, there were still things he had left to do, things he wanted to see and feel. He wanted to swim in bliss through reefs, and dive from planes. He wanted to learn to sculpt clay and read ridiculous old-timey poems that didn’t make any sense at all but would undoubtedly inflate his ego. And there was still love, to be made, to be felt, to be given. There was still all of that. In his deepest of hearts, he knew that. But it was not easy.

These desires were not a bright and furious light that came to banish the thing in his mind, they were not sunshine through a black hole of dread. They just made it easier to carry this thing, to live with it as it swarmed inside him, threatening to devour all that he was and all that he could become.

He sighed and pulled himself away from his thoughts. It would take too much effort to stand, and it would sap more energy than he had. Instead, sitting, he hugged his knees to his chest and decided to look out at the sea for a few minutes more.

If you think you may be experiencing depression or another mental health problem, please contact your general practitioner. If you’re based in Australia, 24-hour support is available through Lifeline on 13 11 14 or beyondblue on 1300 22 4636.