Categories: uncategorized
Date: 26 March 2006 14:39:58
I thought my life was over.
What a thoroughly dull story this is: there was a girl; I wanted her; she didn't want me. It wasn't the first or the last occasion like that, but it was probably the first time where I tried to do something about it. And that probably made the failure so unpleasant. I remember putting a pillow over my head and actually pondering whether I wanted to end it or not. Maybe that was the closest I ever came to taking my life. Maybe. Either way, I realized that I didn't want to die, and just by expressing the wish, life began again.
But in recalling this story, another one hovers at my shoulder. There was one person who witnessed some of my worst humiliation in that business and mocked me for it. He was justified in having a laugh at my expense, but it left quite an impression and became the first thing I would think of whenever I thought of him. Even when, many years later, I'd heard that he had killed himself. In my mind, his epitaph will always be that cruelty he showed to me.
What a strange word "life" is. When it's a life lost, we think of it as a huge thing, although possibly not as big as death. But when we tell someone to get a life, it's tiny - an annoying quirk in a personality. Or are we really telling them that they are dead? And for those who say "my work is my life" - what do they mean? I suppose life really is just what you make it - mountain or molehill, something or nothing.