Warning: This is one of those really serious, personal posts.
I'm reading a book called The Dogs of Babel and, last night, a couple of paragraphs really resonated with me. The book opens with a man finding out that his wife has died. The police believe it was an accident but it may very well have been suicide. As the husband explores his past with his wife he relives conversations where she reveals her inner demons, her past suicide attempt. She refers to suicide as a moment. There is this brief window of opportunity when it seems like the right time, a moment when nothing else matters but, if that opportunity isn't taken advantage of immediately, thoughts start creeping in. How hurt will family and friends be? Could I end up in a vegetative state instead? What if I jump and land on someone or land in front of a child who ends up traumatized for life? Once those thoughts start, the moment is gone.
This is the first time I've ever read anything that put my experience into words that made perfect sense. Throughout high school, as my depression was setting in, my life was made up of these moments. I never knew when one was going to strike but it was always fleeting, only seconds really, then I'd think about how hurt my grandmother would be or how I'd probably screw up and end up on a respirator for the rest of my life. The depression would still be there but the moment would be gone. As I got older, the moments stopped coming as often and, now, the medication, and my own self-awareness, keeps them at bay. The last moment was a split second in length and I can't even remember when it was. That is a big step.