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  • Writer's picturecocodensmore

And I’ll fight you another day. And win again.

October 21, 2021

Hello suicide my old friend.

You’ve come to sit with me again.

All those times I felt so strong.

Like you’d never come back, like I could keep you away with my mind and the armor I so carefully painstaking created to protect my mind.

My tool kit. Years of therapy. I have so many tools. I wear them on a tool belt around my waist. My tool belt is so full of solutions it weighs me down and causes me to walk lower, with my knees bent. Weighed down with the tools of success.

So many methods to fight you when I see you lurking there, in the shadows of my mind I thought was well. My well mind. My balanced mind. My mind that was functioning. My middle mind. My mind that was fruitful creative, loving, giving, full of legacy.

The tools work. They really do. But they’re heavy. And I can’t ever forget them, weighing down my center. They’re my savior. But they’re also my downfall.

They don’t feel so different than the chain you wrap around my waist attached to a weight that might pull me over the edge, drag me across the the railing, into the deepest water, the deepest depth. Destruction.

The heaviest things ground us. But the heaviest things also destroy us. Holding onto our solutions, overlooking, missing our vulnerabilities.

Suicide. You go. You go. You go. You go. But then.

You come back.

Will you get the best of me this time? I doubt you’ll take me. You haven’t managed that yet. I’m stronger than you are, far stronger. But you can lie, cheat, steal, destroy. You can take my peace and crush it under your boot as if it never were.

You can create in me sheer misery. And you can make me feel as if the misery will never end.

The only thing I can fight you with right now are my Responsibilities. Lives are dependent upon my pushing through and overcoming your evil ways. And really, lives are always dependent upon me pushing through and conquering you. Always.

Go away. For a while. Give me a bit of rest. Let me get back to my center. Let me get back to owning the weight of my tool belt and owning the truths therein. Take off your chain that overlays my tool belt and take away the weight that feels so similar and so familiar but is the antithesis of my victory over YOU.

Just go for a little while.


And I’ll fight you another day. And win again.



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