Walking with Sasha at night was the most meditative daily moment in the life of my thirty year old self. I had a particular preference for a certain cluster of stars. I didn’t know why. They were visible from the fall through the spring. The grouping was known as Pleiades.
During the moods when I believed in reincarnation, I told myself that I would go to those stars in the next life and be a wizard. I told my friends to look me up if they were in the vicinity in their next lives because that was where I’d be. I didn’t realize at first how closely that plan coincided with the life of Alfer Centurie.
* * * * * * *
One glowing ball of light said to another glowing ball of light, “Oh feel it—the pain and exhilaration of other lives past.”
The other glowing ball of light said to the first, “Really, I don’t like to. It makes my light feel so much dimmer—like I’ve gained a few billion years and am ready to expire.”
* * * * * * *
“J, that bitch, I’d like to kill her.” Despite my adult psychic rumination about distant planets, the effects of my realization of my father as murderer were devastating.
Sasifraz came out with a vengeance. But, as I had begun to identify him more and more for who he really was—namely a very justifiably angry part of myself that I had cut off—I recognized my own desire to do myself in. I couldn’t deny it.
“I want to cut myself,” I heard myself say repeatedly. I began flashing on memories of my father and the body. All I wanted to do was take it out on myself—to relive the most gruesome parts with my own arm.
* * * * * * *
I felt like my adult support system began to buckle and strain under the heavy load I was putting on it. I bought a razor blade and sliced my wrist as deeply as I could without cutting an artery. I was composed and calculating. I cut it with a soldier’s attitude of performing a duty. When I was done, I was truly scared—more scared than I’d ever been before. Finally, I knew without question just how easy it would be to kill myself with just one more slice.
* * * * * * *
Fear mobilized me. In panic, I started asking for help more than ever before. BJ and Rahne and Leslie were all there—making agreements, giving support, and checking in with me. I was grateful for their help. But, I was mostly aware of the fact that only I could make the decision to save my life. With so much pressure, sometimes I wondered if I was up to the task. It was never like I only had to choose living once.