I wish I had died during my thyroidectomy years ago. It’s not that my life sucks, either. I graduate college in December, have friends, a decent family, and a good boyfriend. It’s because after losing a year of my life to my thyroid basically killing itself that I saw how arbitrary and meaningless life is. My body changed, too, and it’s weird knowing a small blue pill is the only reason I am currently alive. No one in my life understands what I went through and what I am going through. I have been in therapy before and it helped a little, but it’s hard finding meaning in life.
I wonder if I’m capable of starting a cult. During my psychology and sociology classes in college I was always taking notes on what would be important for starting a cult: Personal traits, group dynamics, how much of their lives you would need to control, how much isolation. I wonder how far I could get them to go?
I cross over a bridge everyday, and I always think/fantasize about jumping off. I wouldn’t call myself suicidal, but goddamn I can’t escape that thought while over the rapids of the Ottawa River.
“L’appel du vide” is what they call it.
I remember when my 95-year-old great-grandmother flew out to California from the east coast to visit me. She was walking in being helped by my great aunt, as she struggled to walk, and the first thought that came through my head was, “I wonder what would happen if I pushed her over.”