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A Reasonable Presumption of Suicide

3 min read

This is a story about heartbeats...


The view from my bay window this morning epitomised my tightrope walk. Living by the seaside with a beautiful picturesque commanding vantage point is a rare privilege. It's churlish of me to mention having to get up at - quite literally - dawn and drive to some godforsaken place where I'll live out of a suitcase during the working week. It's vulgar for me to talk about my perilous existence when I occupy an enviable situation, such that my income exceeds my expenditure and I am potentially able to free myself from the tyranny of capitalism.

Having talked about ending my life so frequently and for such a long period of time, it seems reasonable that any time I break from my usual routine should be cause for concern.

Purposefully, I have tried to write with regularity such that the alarm would be raised if I ever went AWOL.

At the moment I have no concrete plans to kill myself and the factors which tipped me over the edge last year are well managed. My finances are improving, my employment situation is reasonably good, I'm not mixed up with drugs or unhealthy relationships. These might seem like trivial superficial things but if you've ever tried to exist without sufficient money for day-to-day life, you'll soon realise that no amount of worthless platitudes are a substitute for cold hard cash.

I still refuse to relinquish both the option to kill myself and the hope that I might be restored to a state of good health and wellbeing, also known as wealth.

I see no reason why I might be prompted to commit suicide.

However, I've often been blindsided.

Who knows.

Who knows what's going to happen next? I can definitely sense the problems which have cyclically surfaced in recent years during this autumn/winter season. There is a very real and tangible change in my mood which moves towards arrogance, argumentativeness, overconfidence, impulsiveness, hopelessness, impatience and a whole host of other things which have come about as a result of a whole year of hell, followed by some long-overdue success.

Things are going well.

Too well.

I have plenty of reasons to suspect that I'm about to be dealt a violent blow.

For now I'm alive and well and I feel pretty much fine. However, I have a deep suspicion and a load of built-up experience which tells me that this particular time of year is when my harshest setbacks arrive. I'm anticipating some major setbacks.

The people who've followed my story and believed that I'm worth supporting deserve particular credit for persevering with the rollercoaster ride that I've taken them on.

It's hard to know if I've gone quiet because I'm dead, or because I'm uncharacteristically busy for once.

Not dead yet and I have no intention of unfairly and unreasonably making anybody feel uncertain about the safety of my life. I'm not attention seeking. I'm not attempting to emotionally manipulate anybody.

Should I declare myself safe? That would be untrue. Should I warn you that I might kill myself at any moment? That would also be untrue.