I give myself over to death’s embrace. Death is my last and forever lover. Safe and warm, I leave everything behind. Someone will find the body that I happily leave. There is food and water for Gala. She can go in and out through her dog door. Maybe she will bark and cry. I think she will know I am dead. I hope someone finds the body soon for Gala’s sake.
Before I cut my wrists, I held her and hugged her and kissed her and told her what a good dog she is and how much I love her. She looked at me with wrinkled forehead and sad eyes.
Gala is my dear and constant companion. She goes with me everywhere. People always want to pet her. I have to say, “Please do not touch her. She is a working dog.” “What kind of dog is she?” “A standard poodle.” “She’s beautiful, so calm and attentive.” “Yes, she is.” How many times have I had that conversation? People never seem to know what to say to me about me. I am worn down.
I left a note leaving Gala to the Guide Dogs for the Blind. They have been good to me. They gave me three dogs. I’ve been blind for so long. I’ve outlived two dogs. She will be a good dog for someone else.
I’ve lived thirty-five years, most of them in agony. People tell me how beautiful I am and brilliant and how much I have to offer the world. That makes no difference. I was never part of this world. Instead, I was in a world of pain. I tried to push through it. I had moments of beauty and peace. Beethoven sometimes reaches me and soothes the aches in my heart and chest and head. I met so many people who I thought loved me and respected me. They always let me down. They didn’t understand. I was thrown back into that burning pit of oil, left alone, with no one to comfort me.
I have a 4.0 in my clinical psychology program. The professors were so nice to me for a while. Then they started telling me to get to class on time. I couldn’t help being late. They had no idea how hard it is to get on and off the bus and to find my way in the constant gloom of my so-called sight. How would they like to walk around all day every day with a blindfold on?
I know they thought I was disruptive to their precious lectures. I could feel their irritation as I walked in with Gala. I could feel people looking at me. There was silence as I found a chair and Gala found a place at my feet. She would sleep and sometimes yelp and moan. No one ever said anything to me about Gala’s noisy sleep, but I know it made other people mad.
A psychiatrist told me I should be on an anti-depressant. I said no. I do not want to take drugs. I did not tell her that I want to leave this earth. Death is better than this. The shrink said I am at high risk because my sister committed suicide. I said nothing. I never liked my sister. She was mean to me. She even made fun of my blindness when we were kids. I was sad when she died, but I was jealous, too. It ‘s over for her. She found the sweet peace of death. I’ve been ready to die for a long time.
The shrink said my depression is probably genetic, given my family history. My uncle on my mother’s side and two of my father’s sisters had committed suicide. I didn’t tell her about my mother’s moodiness and my father’s drunken rages. My grandfather died in a car crash into a bridge abutment. Yes, there is suicide in my family. Yes, my depression is probably genetic. I won’t be a weakling and take anti-depressants. It takes courage to choose death.
I meet death on my own terms. I embrace death. I welcome death with an open heart. Please take good care of Gala.