I am not asking you to share this. I am not asking you to ‘like’ this. I am not asking you to cut and paste this. I am taking the time to compose and share MY OWN words.

Many of us know this is a difficult time of year and many of us struggle with depression or know someone who does.

This year has been particularly difficult for many of us (including me) and this season is a particularly difficult time of this particularly difficult year.

Amidst the turmoil, division and hateful words of our leaders, the economic struggles we all face, the violence that desperate people inflict on one another, the on-going loss of our next generation to opioid and alcohol addiction and the seemingly limitless sorrow and misery here at home and abroad, we must find a way to stay connected…before it’s too late.

I don’t want to mourn the death of someone I love and I, me, personally will do anything to prevent that. But it has to start with a connection.

I believe lots of people think about suicide. As an artist, it fascinates me. I can feel the tug of hopelessness and fatigue, imagine the relief of ending the pain. But then what? What if your last thought was about the mess you left for the people who love you? This has always been the natural resolution of my internal narrative.

I still find this  poem difficult to read although I wrote it over a year ago. It makes me cry. I publish it now, because I cannot imagine a better time.

But, I wrote it because I believed I had something worthwhile to say…and to remind myself that I really should cry occasionally.

AND THEN-Ken Miller©

And then…
I look at it in profile. Slowly turn it from side to side.
It is heavy and I draw a heavy breath.
It’s not as if I’d never felt like this before. I know this feeling well.
But, now my strength is gone. I’ve no more will to fight.
I want nothing. No one.
And then…
I lean forward and rest my head on it.
The forward sight digs into my skin, but it feels good.
I smell the oil and I summon the will to be angry.
Dammit! Fuck it! I quit!
I sigh and, with quiet reservation and determination, again I say, “I quit”.
And then…
I pull the trigger.
In an instant, the pain is gone.
I am flooded with an ecstasy I’ve never known.
An incredible cascade of…
And then…
And then…
I look down on the room and see the mess I’ve made.
And then…
I feel the hearts of everyone I love breaking.
And then…
Yes, only then, do I truly understand the finality of what I have done.