Gobbledegook

What would you do if you wanted to kill yourself?

It’s not that I want to be dead – it’s more that... I just don’t want to be alive, want everything to stop.

I look back at what I’ve typed. Was that really me? It makes it all real somehow – seeing it in black and white, on the page like that, you know?

A few others came on – told me to call 999, NHS direct, sent me a link to somewhere or other, but by then I wasn’t really interested anymore. I left it

I found myself going around, doing silly everyday things, I mean why bother to wash your hair when you’re going to kill yourself? Doesn’t make sense does it. Or sort out the recycling. What’s the point?

And I didn’t tell them about the kids because I knew they wouldn’t have understood.

You see, how could I leave them? They’ve been through so much lately – they’re too young to understand all of it, and of course he makes sure he never …. does anything when they’re up – there was one time when Ruby got out of bed because she heard the noise – but that was an accident.

No one would know to look at us what goes on. The things he’s said, done…. I am worthless, I know. I can’t keep on top of things. Some days I can’t even get out of bed. I am no good to anyone. I deserve nothing better. It’s true; he's right.

But I can’t leave the kids. What would they do? Who would look after them? They are frightened of him – he shouts, expects them to behave in a way that they can’t. They’re too little. I mean, I agree with what he says about punishment – it’s in the Bible isn’t it? But I think he comes down too hard on them. Jamie’s started wetting the bed again… and of course that makes him even angrier and so it starts again.

I do not think he has any compassion.

I couldn’t leave them here.

That’s why I’m going to take them with me.

See? I knew you wouldn’t understand. I bet you’re shaking your head right now. But I know what I’m doing, I’m not mad. I’m just tired and I want it all to stop. I want to protect them. How could I not? They are my life.

It’s not hard. They’ve given me enough medication to sink a lifeboat, and I know what I’m doing; I’ve looked it all up on the Internet. Lithium, Zolpidem, Temazepam, on and on and on. I know what I’m doing.

There. Warm milk and a cuddle and my babies are in their beds. They’re already asleep. I love them with all my heart.

Now my turn. Still plenty left – more than enough. I want to make sure. Brush my teeth, like I always do. Take my laptop to bed with me. Put out the bedside light. He’s on nights this week, won’t be home til seven, so that’s okay. Other GPs use a service but he thinks his patients appreciate the personal touch.

The blue-white glow of the screen; it’s kept me company so many nights when I couldn’t sleep. I log on, start a new thread, only this time I can’t seem to type the words properly. Can’t find the right keys, and all that comes out is gobbledegook.