tales from an ordinary world

2000-09-12e

I remember the time I ingested a jar full of sleeping pills. I was in my third year of uni, my coursework was taking more of my time and becoming less fulfilling - I could see how little it was going to help me once I finished, and until then I was stuck in a meaningless cycle of pointless assessment. What was I to do ? I felt less and less at home with my usual group of uni friends, and I'd terminated a relationship with someone that had run into rough territory on account of her religion - I didn't feel like I could compete with God, so I called the whole thing off. Basically, I just couldn't see the future anymore. They'd given my father a jar of sleeping pills after a recent hospital visit, so one particularly depressed night I went and found them, washed the lot down with a glass of water, and went to sleep, hoping never to wake up. I didn't write a note explaining why - I didn't feel like I'd be capable of expressing it in a way I'd be happy with, in a way that wouldn't somehow be misinterpreted and twisted against me somehow.

Of course, nothing happened. Nothing at all. Life goes on, both joyously and regretfully.

Even nowadays it's hard to see the future, every once in a while.