The pills were laid out. Four different prescriptions, over fifty pills to consume. I had hit my limit with the growing darkness in my mind. The voices were too loud to ignore, and I followed their guide. I wasn’t afraid to die, I was scared to keep living. Every day is full of pain, physical and mental pain, swallowing me into a deep dark pit. I couldn’t see the light anymore. Why would I stay? Why keep fighting? Would anyone even care if I was gone? The voices sure didn’t think so, they told me I didn’t matter, nothing good was coming, and everything will just continue to get worse.
This isn’t the first time I gave into these voices. They have pulled me down before. They have been present for years now. They are as much a part of me, and quite frankly, becoming synchronized with my soul. The voices come to me in a faint whisper brushing the outskirts of my subconscious thought. Other times, the voices hit my forethought like a thirty foot wave. They destroy every peaceful consideration I have, roaring at me with the predatory skill of a lion prepared to attack. They grumble like my stomach when I stop eating. The longer I wait to eat, the louder it gets. Well, I hadn’t fed the voices for a while, so they were snarling like a hangry lioness.
As I stood in my eerily quiet kitchen, filling my water glass, I listened to the voices. Their guttural taunting and devious intentions pushing out their depravities, while grabbing the inner core and far reaches of my mind, screeching their foul demeanor… hollering, “Just do it!”
Then I heard a soft melodic lull, a different voice, the voice of a siren, from upstairs.
I jumped at the sound of a real voice. My child had woken up from a nightmare and was calling for me. I walked around the corner to see her sleepy face and arms stretched toward me. I walked up to her and held her tight. She gripped onto me like she was a newborn baby. I picked her up and carried her into my room and laid her down in my bed. As I turned to walk out the door she asked, “Will you come back and lay with me?”
I had a plan, but my plan changed. Call it divine intervention, or just good timing. With one word, my daughter saved me from the voices that night. They are back to a whisper now, and will help hopefully I can keep them there. I keep the voices at bay, but they are always present, attempting to whisk me into an eternal slumber, where pain and misery are hushed. My children silence them. They remind me why I am important, and moreover, why I am needed in this life. Life is precious, and what we do with it, or how we live in it, is a choice even when it feels that you have no choice.