Monday, 31 August 2009

The suicide note ( fiction )

To Whom It may Concern,

That sounds so impersonal.

But that is how this life experience has been , so impersonal.

Everything everyone seemed to do to me seemed so impersonal.

"Don't take it personal, but..." Oh so many ways to finish that sentence. So many ways it was finished for me.

What was that American dream I heard about. It passed me by. I saw the American nightmare they never talk about.

I was supposed to get married, have children, grow old with my loving husband... through thick and thin with a man by my side.

I was supposed to keep an immaculate house.

I was supposed to cook like Julia Child or some-one's grandmother.

I was supposed to be the perfect mother, never an ill word or a tear. Always calm always cheerful always sacrificing no thought for myself

I was a piss poor house keeper. I tried to keep up, but as soon as one side of the house was done, to perfection, the other side was trashed again.

He always said he was seemed to invite people over. That was followed by braking dishes, or a favorite item or just a slap to the face.

My cooking was adequate. Healthy. That was my concern. He fussed so much that the children followed suit. Ever meal not edible according to my family.

Motherhood, I failed there too. Never calm enough, never nice enough, never, never... never enough of anything for anyone. The schools called me irrational, because I got upset. My oldest son he found it an easy excuse not to do his work. "well you know how my mother is." he would say and they would give him a passing grad on a paper half ass-ed done. The others found it easy to blame me, too.

Roy, he runs the streets since he was 15. The cops talk about his crazy mother and give him a pass most the time. His father used the same line the first time the cops brought him home. As soon as the door closed the belt came out, first for Roy second for me for embarrassing him.

That was the night I made him leave. Well it was something a kin to Roy and I pushing him out the door.

I thought that would be the end of it. That the children would calm down. That the world would see me for me and not though his eyes, not through his lies.

I was wrong.

The boys they got wilder. They turned their wildness to me and the girls. I found myself up against walls screaming about respect. The girls cried as the boys said they were now the men in the house and would have order.

What was worse? I sot help from the police who laughed at me, told me it was my fault for turning out the only man who would deal with me. The court system, the social workers all interviewed him and they said I was luck enough to keep my kids. They told me I could press charges and put my sons in jail for years.

A man to grow old with. The thick and thin. Why women put up with it? The teenage years. As they grow into it, they all turn on me. Nothing I do is good enough. His words haunt me, though my children. But I love them. I can not get rid of them as easy.

Oh lord, I don not not how to go on. I work all day, clean and cook all night, with no kind word towards me during any minute of the day. I have failed you. I could not live up to the role of Mother. As I could not live up to the roll of Wife. I do not know how to go on one more day.

I reached out to people. They seemed to be good people. A man who said he cared. The children took to him. He told me he had morals. Good Christian morals. He was nice, I didn't mind don't all those things to please him. I saw him as someone I could be with. Than I saw him with another woman, saying the same things he said to me, those things they seemed so sincere, so personal. He was just a player playing his game.

Oh Lord, I raged against him , like a Hurricane rages against the gulf coast.

All those people, they spun away from me as quickly as they spun to me. I want Just one person to be what they say they are. But they are not.

In all my life I wanted to love. I settled fr "he liked me." And that was good enough. We got along well enough. Until we didn't.

I fell hard for a man knew all the right words to say and the right places to touch but none of the staying power of a real man.

I fear my children. I gave birth to them, nursed them, love them, held each one close and yet they treat me as I was a stranger.

I fear growing old alone.

I fear love. Love I will never find, love I will find but does not want me.

I am past my time to get a man. It is not fair, Lord, how men my age are in their prime and women are disgusting old bags. Why make things so unbalanced as they are.

I have no more need of a hard life. Of toiling everyday and never having any light at the end of the tunnel. Hope has left years ago. And with out her sweet grace I find nothing more to live for.

But I wanted to let who ever cared, know why. I suspect none should care, but I hate unanswered questions and would not like to do that to anyone else.


The next morning the alarm went off. I shut it off stumbled out of bed. Found the note I left. Realized I chickened out again. Crumpled it up and threw it away with the other ones.

Maybe today someone will care.

I head out the door to take the train to work.

The world looks gray again. I think it might snow.