This short story, dark in more ways than one, comes with a trigger warning.
I’ve lost friends to suicide. I endured depression, anxiety and suicidal ideation for years and years. I’ve tried ending my life more than once. Afterward I’d berate myself, “you’re too scared, too much of a coward and failure to go through with this, to get even this right!” I’m grateful, with retrospect and years of healing, for those ‘failures’.
So a trigger warning.
Although this story is thematically dark, it is delivered lightly and I hope it’s a bit funny, I’d like it if it made you smile, but I’m not making light of something serious.
I genuinely believe we should remove the stigma from suicide. Making it illegal and shameful was a terrible mistake. If we had a culture of open discussion around our worst fears and darkest thoughts lives might be saved.
A mental health first aid approach tells us “it's ok not to be ok” but is it? Saying it's ok suggests to me that we should accept less than a contented life. I don't think this is ok. Ok, that’s a lot of okays. We should all be able to find our way to contented. From there we might aspire to regular, but probably intermittent, happiness. Modern life can be rubbish, sometimes - often - we're not ok. The solution is, in my experience, talking. The more we talk the more we shift the balance toward a baseline of contentment.
Here’s the story, it’s called Incompatible because that’s how I felt for many, many years. Out of place and poorly suited for life. I don't feel like that now. It took a long time to figure out who I am and where I fit. I'm glad I stuck around. I find that I'm grateful now, for the pain back then, it shaped me, made it easier to see, and engage with, other people's pain. I found my way by seeking out good people to talk with. Talking is the solution.
When I thought about that I smiled and this story mumbled out between my lips for me to fumble into my screen with my thumbs and fingertips.
I feel, finally, lucky to be alive.
Incompatible.
The door closed hard in my face. I stood in the sticky mango glow of the nearby street lamp considering whether I should knock again or leave and finish the job I’d started earlier in the evening. From my brief glimpse through the opened door, and the sounds of revelling, it seems like a lively party. Not really my thing usually but I need to see a face I recognise; check in or check out. My frustrated, awkward experience a couple of hours ago had at least left me feeling like I’d rather check in.
The door opens again narrow and quick, Ross squeezes out and closes the door gently behind him, reaching through at the last minute to snib the lock so he can sneak himself back in quietly. Back where all the lively, happy people are.
"Mate, maaate - matey. Oh dear. It took me a minute to recognise you, with the, the this…" he gestures toward and around his own face with a swirling hand then points at mine. "I just saw…” the hand gestures again “y'know…". He doesn't want to say it, saying it makes it real, "...you can't really do that these days mate. It's not that kind of party. Christmas, not, I wouldn't have that…” he stands dumbfounded, circles his face again with his hand. “Not this”.
He's right of course. "You're right, I know, of course. Not fancy dress.” I say. I've spent the walk over here and the time before that getting dried off and dressed in my best suit, the one I have for funerals, thinking about how I explain this. "I just needed to be around people. I’m sorry about this..." I return his hand gesture, hand back his confused mime.
The bath was always going to be about getting ready to go out or drawing a final line under things. Most probably the final line.
While the bath ran I dug about in the big hall cupboard where the landlord keeps DIY stuff, searching through tools, half cans of paint and things left behind by previous tenants, for the toaster. He’d suggested vaguely, when I moved in, that there was one and I’d explained I’d not need it. Who knew eh?
The toaster was buried under an army surplus sleeping bag and a brightly coloured outdoorsy jacket right at the back. The kind of jacket that attaches to a kayak to keep water out. I’d considered wearing it in last spring’s rain but it really wants a kayak. From the toaster’s ignominious position under the dusty outdoors equipment. I deduced that maybe the previous tenant had also been gluten intolerant. Perhaps the flat attracts society's rejects. People who don't fit in our yeast based culture. Although at least I’m not involved with watersports. I imagine kayaks to be a gateway pursuit leading inevitably to jet skis, scourge of beaches and bathers. Maybe they brought their own toaster. I’d found the extension lead in there too.
The bath had reached a significant draught while I was rooting around almost Narnia deep in the back of the cupboard. The water lapped against the little overflow hole, I'd run it much deeper than I'd usually allow - I have a tight tenancy agreement and water damage gets a special mention - but, well, I wouldn’t have to deal with the mess when it spills over to soak the floor. I wouldn’t have to deal with anything after this and I suppose the landlord probably keeps the deposit.
Returning to the cupboard, I pulled out a mop and bucket and left them leant up against the wall, in the hall, by the bathroom door. It doesn’t hurt to be nice.
I sat the long extension lead, it’s blue plastic reel, on the creaky wicker chair beside yesterday’s towel. Keep it away from splashes; safety first. The toaster’s plugged in beside it with the dial turned all the way round to the longest setting,just to be sure. “Set toasters to kill” I say, in Captain Kirk’s voice, not laughing at my joke. I’m not even sure why toasters have a setting that can only burn the bread. I can’t think of a scenario where you’d want to either stun the bread or cremate it. Surely toast is defined by the midpoint between the two. I wandered down this line of thought for a while and almost lost my nerve.
The bath had cooled so I eased out the plug, let some cold water out and ran in a little more hot.
I lowered myself into the warmth holding my right arm up out of the water. I’d need a dry hand for working the toaster.
Time passed and the water lost it's heat. I'd be a sad fool in a cold bath if I didn't take action soon.
I leant across with conviction and solemnly depressed the toaster’s lever which promptly, and with a little too much glee, popped straight back up. I gave it a few more pushes, each one met with a joyful ba-doing-adoing-doing-ing bounce, like a puppy eager to play. The lever wouldn’t stay down and neither would my frustration level which escalated alongside my heart rate. Not to be thwarted at this stage I rose up, a pale Kraken and stomped, naked and dripping, through to the computer desk in the living room. I unplugged and lifted the printer, stomped back to the bathroom, plugged it in and stepped into the bath with the little grey inkjet held tight to my chest. Splashing down quickly we submerged entirely beneath the water and blew all the fuses in the flat in an instant.
I lay there considering this most recent failure, naked in the darkness as the water bloomed, splashed and tumbled down the side of the bath, the slosh frequency slowly diminishing. In the ensuing silence I concluded that I can’t even kill myself properly. The warm water cooled over half an hour or so while I soaked in a stew of my own disappointment, unexpected relief and as it turns out, third party compatible inkjet ink. The cyan, magenta, yellow and black ran together into a muddy dark brown, covering me evenly and neatly, doing a better job than even the most aggressive spray tan booth.
“Which is why I’m at your house in full blackface” I say to Ross, my voice fatigued and pleading “I don’t want to look like this but I’m alive by mistake and I’m not a racist or a minstrel. I can't be on my own just now. I don’t want to die and can I please come into the party?”
If you’re feeling the crushing weight of continuing to live and it seems absolutely impossible to imagine pushing forward for one day more, there is nothing wrong with thinking about killing yourself. The deal is you HAVE to have to at least one conversation with one good person before you do it. Actually, let’s make it two just in case the first person is busy and doesn’t understand the urgency of the situation. Other people have lives too. You have to openly and honestly talk about your feelings with two other people. If you don’t have two people to talk to you’ll have to find some. Talk it over, see how that goes and you can always kill yourself after. But leave it a couple of days so they don’t feel responsible. They’re not of course. It’s your life and only you are responsible for it. But they might feel a bit responsible so take their feelings into consideration and hold off for a day or so after you talk. Give them a call, check in to see how they are, because it’s a big thing to have shared and talking might also help them.
If the people nearest you aren’t equipped to listen and hold a safe space for you call the Samaritans on 116 123.
The NHS have a page with numbers and websites that can help…
https://www.nhs.uk/mental-health/feelings-symptoms-behaviours/behaviours/help-for-suicidal-thoughts/
Writing and sharing stories helped me. I'm confident that sharing is universal medicine.
Please message me or comment.
Thank you Paul for showing the thin line between comedy and tragedy. Its perhaps the feather that can tip the scales in favour of life. Sharing stores and experence like this will save lives, so I guess the ripples of your bath water linger on like your inedvert experence of blackface😂 please tell me there is a picture some where, don't need to see it just to know its there. I liked what you said about being grateful for your suffering and what it thought you. Perspective is so important and suffering is often our greatest teacher. I need to remind myself of that instead of bathing in the comfortable and familiar waters of anger and frustration. Thank you Brother and thank you modern electrical safety standards. ❤️❤️❤️
Oh my, Paul. Thank goodness for those fuses. Thanks for sharing, and I agree it is a bit funny, if in dark way. Ellen x