>A Dark Tale…

>I’m sitting here…it’s getting dark outside, and I’m wondering what to write about tonight. I started to review the day…we had a wicked storm that knocked out the power for an hour and a half-the Center closed a little early today. While the power was out (in an effort to keep the kids from getting scared) I thought it would be fun to play with the darkness. We had been in the lunch room eating snack…so, we tip-toed through the dark hallways back to our room-where I proceeded to tell them my own modified version of A Dark Dark Tale. Mind you, these are 3, nearly 4 year olds, in a very dark room….the tale ends suddenly and when I tell it, the goal is to startle the kids and get them to scream. Boy, did it ever work! Of course, they begged me to tell it again and again…but I thought it might push it, so we sang all sorts of silly songs. We had a lot of fun in the dark and no one was afraid.  I’m thinking about what to write…thinking about scary, but funny, stories for children…and thought it might be time for a dark tale for grown-ups…a true dark tale…
                                                                                                                              
 The summer of 1991 was hard. Really hard. That was the summer I drank-a lot. I had never been a drinker at all…That was the summer I sank into a depression that I couldn’t find my way out of. I was around people all the time, but I was so completely alone…

To say my mom and I had a complicated relationship is a clichéd understatement. And also a truth. I pretty much stopped eating-maybe once a day….? I stopped weighing myself when I dropped under 100 pounds. I was afraid. My sister told me everyone thought I had AIDS because I had lost so much weight…again, I was afraid. Once, that summer, I should have died of alcohol poisoning. I didn’t. I cannot tell you why, either. I do remember blacking out while standing at the one and only bar I ever went to….waking up sitting in the ladies bathroom, watching my friend wash her face so she could get sober enough to drive us to some guy’s house that she’d just met….I slept in a chair. You can guess where she slept. Anyway…the dark part.

For lots of reasons not in this post, I wanted to die. All my life. As a child of 10, I can clearly remember thinking that it would be better to be dead than live the life that was mine. In the summer of 1991, I was so tired…so very, very tired of it all, that I finally stopped trying to convince myself that it might get better…and made a decision.

I took a shower, put on nice clothes, fixed my hair, did my make-up…I wanted to look as nice as possible when the coroner came. I’m not allowed to tell you what I did, only that I did it. I killed myself.

At one point, after I did what I did, I “came to”…but in a weird way. It was like I was standing up inside my soul…? I “looked” at myself…was aware of myself-from inside myself. I noticed my tongue was swollen, my chest felt like it had an anvil on it-I was hardly breathing-I was hardly able to. I was icy cold. I couldn’t feel my legs at all. I couldn’t move; I was dying. And, I was happy about it. Finally! No more pain!

Then I heard a voice. “You’re dying.” For some reason, I wasn’t startled by the voice. I did another survey of myself, “Yep.” I could sense frustration from the source of the voice. “No, you don’t understand. When you close your eyes,”  (my inside of me, looking at me, eyes-my soul? my consciousness?), and I sensed a finger and thumb demonstrating a closing gesture, very slowly, and when they touched, closed, the voice continued, “when you close your eyes, you’ll be dead.” I did the survey again, “Okay.” More frustration. “There are things you’ve left undone.” Hmmm. I ran over my list in my head…my mom wouldn’t be too upset-my sister was the only child she really cared about (a truth). My brother would be upset but he was a teenager and had really good friends, and I had lived away from home for years, he would be okay. My nephew-he was young enough at that age, he would forget me in a couple years and he would be fine, too. My sister, well, she had everyone and everything, so-she would be fine. I couldn’t think of anything I had left undone. I asked the voice, “What things?” No answer. “What have I left undone?” No answer. Up until this point, I had experienced no fear at all. I became afraid. At the moment I experienced fear, the voice spoke, “And, there will be GOOD.” Okay….that scared the hell out of me. Good? I’d never had good. The good I’d had had been either taken away, twisted, or came with a backhand, literal and figurative. What good? The way the voice said it, it sounded like, real. Intense. Honest. GOOD. I was so afraid. Afraid to live. Afraid to die. Afraid of “undone” and afraid of “GOOD.” Once more, I made a decision. I decided to see if tomorrow would be better. One more time…

Somehow, I was able to sit up. Somehow, I was able to walk from the sofa to the kitchen. I looked at the light on the coffee maker. I walked back to the sofa. I sat. I got up and walked back to the kitchen, looked at the light on the coffee maker and returned to the sofa. I couldn’t do anymore. I lay back down and closed my eyes…

I woke the next morning. I felt, physically, as if nothing had ever happened. I later spoke to a nurse about what I did. She was amazed, and a little afraid. She told me I shouldn’t, for any logical reason, be alive. I knew that.

That was in 1991. I was living as far away from God as one can live and still exist. It wasn’t until 1995 that I went looking for His voice…I decided I wanted to hear more about GOOD…..

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About CuriousCat

I love to learn new things-anything from how to create a junk journal to the way light moves through space; why cats present their behinds to us to the effects of chemicals on our endocrine system. If it interests me, I can spend hours reading and learning about it.

Posted on June 15, 2010, in Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. >Okay, just wow. Having been in the dark as well, I'm glad you're not there anymore.

  2. >The dark is such a horrible place when it's 'for real'…been there.So glad you came through it…look at all you have now to bring you the light!

  3. >what a prophetic experience. isn't that something we need to hear from a reliable source: there will be good. sounds like a dark time, yeah, but sounds like a productively dark time. you don't come back from something like that the same person, i don't think.

  4. >I am so glad you found good out of the darkness. We are all luckier to have you with us now. Your presence is a gift, even to all of us silly bloggers.Stay strong! And thank you for sharing such a difficult experience.

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