Some thoughts on suicide

I used to think that suicide was the coward's way of dealing with life. We all face problems through our lives, and must of us have to deal with them, or cope with the consequences of the problems, or of our wrong handling of them. Suicide is the ultimate method of ignoring a problem by walking away from it. Unfortunately, it leaves everyone else to deal with your mess, while adding to their misery by having to come to terms with your own ultimate cowardice. I have been fortunate in life, for I don't get chronically depressed and don't usually have thoughts of my own suicide. Recently though, when my skin is particularly bad and I'm pacing the floor at three in the morning desperately trying not to scratch, yet knowing  the bed is going to have to be changed from pillow to bottom sheet yet again, I do see that with death the terrible itching will ease. At these times, I suddenly realise that, in fact, perhaps to commit suicide is also an act of bravery, daring to take on the power of the life force and confront the reality of eternal silence. Certainly, I have not come near to the brink of actually attempting the act, and I hope my health does not deteriorate to the point where I consider it as an option.

On a lighter note, today we drove into Cambridge, nominally to find a summer top for Ann. But so many shops in the Grafton Centre are now closed, and the few remaining offer such poor choices, it must be back to the drawing board. In an attempt to try an alternative to shoddy shops, we have treated ourselves to a Singer sewing machine. Ann will buy some material and patterns, and I will attempt to assemble them into a passible blouse. At the very least, perhaps it will give me some distraction if I am pacing the floor again in the night. We will keep you posted.

Lunch at the Cambridge Arms