Nirrend
The important is not how long you live ...
- Mar 12, 2022
- 400
(I confess, I helped myself to a translator to write this story, I hope it will remain understandable. And forgive me if this story is too long, i was writing it while listening to sad songs so i wrote it like words came to me)
Hi everyone, I hope everything is going well for everyone and that you manage to find some warmth in your surroundings, on this forum.
I also hope that those who, like me, are waiting for the right moment to disappear (because of obligations, promises or because they want to spend a few more moments with their loved ones), manage to survive and not suffer too much on a daily basis.
I share this story with you because, maybe, people will feel less lonely (i hope), and sincerely, because i have to confess myself about things i had never tell to someone.
My choice to end it all began in March 2017, when I lost my grandmother. I remember it like it was yesterday, the bluish and reddish glow of the firefighters' flashing lights. The nature, dull, the rain, the melancholy and the suffering of these places. Having arrived by car because I had just learned that the doctors were intervening in her house for something serious, I rushed out of the car, I stepped over the steps that led me to her terrace and finally I opened the front door.
As I entered, there she was, directly to my right. There she was, lying on a couch, with a white sheet covering her body and pulled up to her mouth. Her eyes were open, looking nowhere, simply into nothingness. Fortunately for me, they were not looking in my direction. Naively, I said hello to her anyway and waited a long time for an answer from her. Time had stopped, there was no sound, no movement. It was just me and this lifeless envelope.
Having understood that I would not have an answer to my solicitations and turning my head towards the door on my left, I had the time to perceive a discussion, far away, through this door.
It was then that, in total incomprehension and in an attempt to find answers to my questions, I opened the door and walked down the hallway, leading to the room where my grandfather tended to relax. There he was, with members of my family and the firemen. They were talking and signing a death certificate. A doctor, with a slightly indifferent look on her face (probably due to the familiarity of this kind of event for her) said "Yes, she is dead". She probably understood my incomprehension by the facial expressions I was showing.
Everyone was crying, sobbing, shaking. And there I was, seemingly indifferent but inwardly distraught.
Gradually, my cousins, my aunts and uncles, my father and other relatives arrived to see the irreversible. The comments, the memories, the regrets of my grandmother were all there. Which, surprisingly, was not usually the case since many of my family members would rather distance themselves from her, make fun of her or contact my grandmother out of interest. While having no real consideration or recognition of what she had done for them throughout their lives.
This woman was a link, she was what kept the family together. Getting up every day at 4am to arrange the daily life of everyone (laundry, breakfast, heating...). Sacrificing her personal well being to privilege that of the others. Showing an incomparable accuracy, sympathy and respect. However, she was alone, forgotten because she gave too much, people only came to her for what she brought and not for what she was.
I was, am and will remain crazy about the mother-son love she gave me. I am still crazy about what she is and not about what she should have given me. I was the only little kid who came to see her every two weeks to preserve that bond that was so dear to me. Regularly I came to see her, I told her about my dreams, my ambitions, the hard work I was doing to work in the health field. Moreover, looking her straight in the eyes and with one of my most sincere smiles, I promised her to get my diploma, for her, for those who, like us, are just considered as medical cattle, as taboo figures of a "social malaise", those for whom free will and the right to choose to live or die is sacrificed, to the detriment of a morality, a feeling of fear of responsibility and a justice that obliges them to take care of us, not without a real closeness (I imagine), even if this is not true for everything and fortunately. At that time I was in my second year of study and I think, feeling that I was beginning to be able to understand and feel her suffering, she began to feel the need to open up.
And during my one-on-one exchanges with her, she would sometimes, while crying, show me her pain. Her devastation in front of the mistreatment and the violence lived during her first years of life, her melancholy in front of the loneliness that she did not fill better by reading or watching television, this melancholy also due to her social phobia, leading her to spend whole days locked up in her country house to contemplate the sky. Her regrets about the absence of her other grandchildren, of her brothers and sisters, of her childrens. And finally, the one who managed to make her leave home forever, her son, who died of a heart attack three years earlier
So I had a few months before March 2017, this woman, this alter, this model who allowed me to feel accomplished, this model who cracked as we talked. Having been upset by her confession, I was taken by panic. I was immature at that time and this period was in conjunction with the beginnings of my therapy for other torments that I was trying to resolve. And stupidly, I answered this sentence in front of her crying: "I'm sorry grandma, in family we are not supposed to talk about such serious things. My psychologist advised me to say that in such situations". I said this sentence, without considering the context in which my therapist told me, I was not flexible, I was following orders to the letter.
My grandmother, faced with this sentence that sounded like a thunderclap, kept silent. She wiped her tears and answered me immediately: "You are right, excuse me for making you live such things, I know that I will disappear with all this". She got up, put away the chair under the table and went to her terrace to contemplate the sky with a look animated only by the nothingness.
I finally understood then, that March 14, 2017, that empty look she wore. was because she had gone with her secrets, with no one to save her.
Faced with her death, I could not feel anything, being in a state of shock, being modest in front of my loved ones, I could not show anything. This, without a doubt, had the consequence of making me look like someone who was not concerned by what was happening. If only they knew.
The funeral took place a few days later, without my emotions being at the rendezvous, the months passed, the seconds flew by. For many of my relatives, time healed the wounds of the heart, for me, never. A year later, I sank into a severe depression, for having inadvertently allowed an ounce of sadness and memories to arise. I then tried, just as my uncle did with my grandmother, to take the road with them, to leave. But it was a failure.
I was taken in charge, followed, advised... Only, I see it like that, to get better it is necessary to take care, to listen and to understand, to take time. But above all, you have to want it, and when the possibilities offered by the beyond are far superior (in my eyes) to what life offers here, changing your mind is far too complex.
At this day, I finish my studies, it is my ultimate wish and it will be the ultimate proof of my love for this woman. In the meantime, other people who were dear to me have joined her, even my pet.
After all, what is keeping me here except my promise to keep? I'm coming to the end of this road, I know now where it leads, I know that in a few months I will join you, this diploma in hand. I know that I will only be a memory, a reminiscence in the eyes of those who remain, but it's so much better that way. And I won't die because I will have written my story, because I will have existed, right?
I love you and I wanted you to remain eternally somewhere, because many have forgotten, even me, I forget your voice and your face today. Will you accept me ? Will you recognize me ? Will you open your arms for me ? I hope so, see you soon.
If you have read me, I thank you, I just wanted to give myself up, to share my experience with you, to give you a little warmth through this story. You are not alone in suffering and if you manage to overcome your pain, I am happy for you, I wish you only that, happiness, to live.
As for me, I will take off in a few months and I hope I will not miss.
I think of you very much, Courage <3
Hi everyone, I hope everything is going well for everyone and that you manage to find some warmth in your surroundings, on this forum.
I also hope that those who, like me, are waiting for the right moment to disappear (because of obligations, promises or because they want to spend a few more moments with their loved ones), manage to survive and not suffer too much on a daily basis.
I share this story with you because, maybe, people will feel less lonely (i hope), and sincerely, because i have to confess myself about things i had never tell to someone.
My choice to end it all began in March 2017, when I lost my grandmother. I remember it like it was yesterday, the bluish and reddish glow of the firefighters' flashing lights. The nature, dull, the rain, the melancholy and the suffering of these places. Having arrived by car because I had just learned that the doctors were intervening in her house for something serious, I rushed out of the car, I stepped over the steps that led me to her terrace and finally I opened the front door.
As I entered, there she was, directly to my right. There she was, lying on a couch, with a white sheet covering her body and pulled up to her mouth. Her eyes were open, looking nowhere, simply into nothingness. Fortunately for me, they were not looking in my direction. Naively, I said hello to her anyway and waited a long time for an answer from her. Time had stopped, there was no sound, no movement. It was just me and this lifeless envelope.
Having understood that I would not have an answer to my solicitations and turning my head towards the door on my left, I had the time to perceive a discussion, far away, through this door.
It was then that, in total incomprehension and in an attempt to find answers to my questions, I opened the door and walked down the hallway, leading to the room where my grandfather tended to relax. There he was, with members of my family and the firemen. They were talking and signing a death certificate. A doctor, with a slightly indifferent look on her face (probably due to the familiarity of this kind of event for her) said "Yes, she is dead". She probably understood my incomprehension by the facial expressions I was showing.
Everyone was crying, sobbing, shaking. And there I was, seemingly indifferent but inwardly distraught.
Gradually, my cousins, my aunts and uncles, my father and other relatives arrived to see the irreversible. The comments, the memories, the regrets of my grandmother were all there. Which, surprisingly, was not usually the case since many of my family members would rather distance themselves from her, make fun of her or contact my grandmother out of interest. While having no real consideration or recognition of what she had done for them throughout their lives.
This woman was a link, she was what kept the family together. Getting up every day at 4am to arrange the daily life of everyone (laundry, breakfast, heating...). Sacrificing her personal well being to privilege that of the others. Showing an incomparable accuracy, sympathy and respect. However, she was alone, forgotten because she gave too much, people only came to her for what she brought and not for what she was.
I was, am and will remain crazy about the mother-son love she gave me. I am still crazy about what she is and not about what she should have given me. I was the only little kid who came to see her every two weeks to preserve that bond that was so dear to me. Regularly I came to see her, I told her about my dreams, my ambitions, the hard work I was doing to work in the health field. Moreover, looking her straight in the eyes and with one of my most sincere smiles, I promised her to get my diploma, for her, for those who, like us, are just considered as medical cattle, as taboo figures of a "social malaise", those for whom free will and the right to choose to live or die is sacrificed, to the detriment of a morality, a feeling of fear of responsibility and a justice that obliges them to take care of us, not without a real closeness (I imagine), even if this is not true for everything and fortunately. At that time I was in my second year of study and I think, feeling that I was beginning to be able to understand and feel her suffering, she began to feel the need to open up.
And during my one-on-one exchanges with her, she would sometimes, while crying, show me her pain. Her devastation in front of the mistreatment and the violence lived during her first years of life, her melancholy in front of the loneliness that she did not fill better by reading or watching television, this melancholy also due to her social phobia, leading her to spend whole days locked up in her country house to contemplate the sky. Her regrets about the absence of her other grandchildren, of her brothers and sisters, of her childrens. And finally, the one who managed to make her leave home forever, her son, who died of a heart attack three years earlier
So I had a few months before March 2017, this woman, this alter, this model who allowed me to feel accomplished, this model who cracked as we talked. Having been upset by her confession, I was taken by panic. I was immature at that time and this period was in conjunction with the beginnings of my therapy for other torments that I was trying to resolve. And stupidly, I answered this sentence in front of her crying: "I'm sorry grandma, in family we are not supposed to talk about such serious things. My psychologist advised me to say that in such situations". I said this sentence, without considering the context in which my therapist told me, I was not flexible, I was following orders to the letter.
My grandmother, faced with this sentence that sounded like a thunderclap, kept silent. She wiped her tears and answered me immediately: "You are right, excuse me for making you live such things, I know that I will disappear with all this". She got up, put away the chair under the table and went to her terrace to contemplate the sky with a look animated only by the nothingness.
I finally understood then, that March 14, 2017, that empty look she wore. was because she had gone with her secrets, with no one to save her.
Faced with her death, I could not feel anything, being in a state of shock, being modest in front of my loved ones, I could not show anything. This, without a doubt, had the consequence of making me look like someone who was not concerned by what was happening. If only they knew.
The funeral took place a few days later, without my emotions being at the rendezvous, the months passed, the seconds flew by. For many of my relatives, time healed the wounds of the heart, for me, never. A year later, I sank into a severe depression, for having inadvertently allowed an ounce of sadness and memories to arise. I then tried, just as my uncle did with my grandmother, to take the road with them, to leave. But it was a failure.
I was taken in charge, followed, advised... Only, I see it like that, to get better it is necessary to take care, to listen and to understand, to take time. But above all, you have to want it, and when the possibilities offered by the beyond are far superior (in my eyes) to what life offers here, changing your mind is far too complex.
At this day, I finish my studies, it is my ultimate wish and it will be the ultimate proof of my love for this woman. In the meantime, other people who were dear to me have joined her, even my pet.
After all, what is keeping me here except my promise to keep? I'm coming to the end of this road, I know now where it leads, I know that in a few months I will join you, this diploma in hand. I know that I will only be a memory, a reminiscence in the eyes of those who remain, but it's so much better that way. And I won't die because I will have written my story, because I will have existed, right?
I love you and I wanted you to remain eternally somewhere, because many have forgotten, even me, I forget your voice and your face today. Will you accept me ? Will you recognize me ? Will you open your arms for me ? I hope so, see you soon.
If you have read me, I thank you, I just wanted to give myself up, to share my experience with you, to give you a little warmth through this story. You are not alone in suffering and if you manage to overcome your pain, I am happy for you, I wish you only that, happiness, to live.
As for me, I will take off in a few months and I hope I will not miss.
I think of you very much, Courage <3
