Darkness consumes the soul with a fire that sometimes rises and rises, burning out of control. It is the rawness eating up the soul, and consuming the spirit with the colors of red, deep blue, charcoal black, grey, and orange, as the smoke rises to the top. Such fires can only be extinguished by the waters of our tears sometimes. For these are the rains that can either build up the fires of rage, or they can wash them out.
Past years, I was consumed with my emotional fire, resulting from a life of turbulence. The violence endured in my life from the time I was a small child, leading up to my early 20’s left strong emotional scars on me, so consuming, they drove me into an area of darkness in the sense. I was 12 years old when I made my first suicidal attempt. I gazed at the bottle of perfume on top of the dresser in my bedroom. After staring at it for a long time, I grabbed a hold of it, opened it up, put it up to my mouth, and poured some into my mouth. However, I heard footsteps in the hallway. It was my mother putting towels and bed sheets away in the linen closet. She headed toward my bedroom.
I quickly spit out the perfume into my garbage basket.
My mother asked why there was such a strong smell of perfume.
I told her the cap was loose, and I accident dropped the bottle over when I was dusting the dresser. Therefore, some of the perfume spilled. Luckily for me, she believed it.
I quickly realized perfume was the best choice for taking my own life, because all my parents had to do was take me to the hospital, get my stomach pumped, and I’d get the beating of my life for costing them money. Therefore, I decided against using perfume again.
There was another time, I was so deeply depressed, when I came home from school. I was the only one in the house. My brothers were outside in the yard, mowing the lawn. Because I was so miserable, and in such agony, I went into the kitchen, pulled out the biggest and longest meat knife I could find, and put the sharp point to my gut. I was in the process of inserting it when I heard one of my brothers coming through the side door.
In my haste, I quickly put the knife into a drawer in the kitchen. However, it was the wrong drawer.
When my brother John came into the house, he saw me standing next to the part of the counter where the very drawer was containing the meat knife, and he asked, “Kiki, what are you doing?”
“I’m was washing the dishes. I was in the process of getting a towel out of the drawer to wipe them when you came in,” I said, hoping my lie was strong enough to be convincing.
“Why is that knife sticking partially out of the drawer? What were you doing with it?” He asked walking toward me.
“I just now put it into its drawer, but it kind of got stuck,” I responded, while playing around with a dish towel resting on the counter.
“You mean you were going to use it,” he said sternly, while yanking the drawer open and removing the knife.
“I don’t know what you mean. I was only…”
“Don’t lie to me. You were going to use it on yourself,” he said while holding the knife in his hands.
“I wasn’t going to use it on myself. The thought never crossed my mind, John, honest.” I protested.
“You’re not a good liar. Don’t you ever do anything to bring harm to yourself, or take your life, because I or someone will be there to stop you,” he shouted, “I’m taking this knife, and removing it from our household so you can never use it again, nor even attempt to use it. I’m taking it to the neighbors across the street for safe keeping.”
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015