One
 

I Gotta Go

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I finished my day at the floral studio with the same level of dread as the previous day. The hopelessness and uselessness I felt deep in my core couldn't be escaped. I simply didn't have the energy to go on anymore but there was something inside that remained. Something that had been preventing me from making the supreme sacrifice of ending it all.

The cocktail of medications prescribed by my doctor for depression and anxiety were no longer working. I don't think they ever worked. I arrived at a place that might. I wanted out, I wanted to be free from the pain and sadness. I was thoroughly exhausted and could no longer function under the weight of heavy emotions that I was now fully weary of shouldering. Darkness permeated every part of my soul and being, it seemed to cast a shadow over everything in my life. I arrived at a decision.

With my pistol in my pocket, I loaded my Labradors into my truck and made the short ride home to my wife and son. I could see the exhaustion and pain in my wife's eyes when I entered the house. I didn't want to see it anymore; I didn't want her to feel pain anymore. I wanted to take the pain away from her as much as I wanted someone to take the pain away from me, but I knew I couldn't. I knew no one could take the pain away from us. It was like a wet T-shirt firmly attached to us.

As a worn-down couple we exchanged the obligatory pleasantries as we sat before the kitchen counter to eat dinner while our son languished in his own personal hell upstairs. He and I had long been disconnected from one another. I couldn't wait to get out of the house, couldn't wait to bring the pain to an end. I wanted to break free from that elephant in the room that she and I were always trying to evade, ignore.

After a short time, I said goodbye to Mia. I told her I loved her. With the same obligation that forced our pleasantries she responded in kind. I went upstairs and said goodbye to my son wholly believing that these would be the last words I spoke to him. I told him I loved him. He barely replied.

I left our home and headed to one of those AA meetings. I had my pistol in my pocket and my plan was set. Tonight was the night the pain would end. I would be free, and my family would be free of the madness that I put them through over the years. I drove the distance out to the northern part of the state along the same route I always took. The route that included each of the telephone poles I dreamed about wrapping my truck around.

I knew that if I could get up enough speed and create the perfect impact that it would work. I reasoned that if I used my pistol at near the same time as the impact that an ending to the pain would be guaranteed. I knew that there would be no chance of survival or rescue as this road is barely travelled in the dark and the likelihood of being found in time was near zero. I had been practicing this scenario, literally and figuratively, for weeks.

As I drove north my thinking fell into a review of sorts. My mind brought forth a fast-paced replay of images of my life that held so much pain with only a weak scattering of images that were pleasant. It felt more bitter than sweet. The pleasant memories didn't hold the power to squelch the painful ones. The darkness couldn’t be escaped. No amount of effort on my part could relieve the absolute despair I was feeling.

I drove through the winding roads and turned onto Route 116. As I made the turn, I felt a sense of relief that it would soon be over. The pain would finally end. As I drove the first stretch of road my decision became solid. I felt there were no other options, it seemed there was no other solution. I had tried everything in my power.

I crossed Route 14 at the flashing light and began the next stretch of road that held the longest straight-aways which would allow me to gain the most speed. I took the gun that I had been dry firing into the roof of my mouth and up the side of my head for the past three months out of my pocket. The shiny piece of metal was already in battery. I held it in my hand and noticed it wasn't cold to the touch. The warmth of the metal brought a sense of comfort, a sense of relief.

I stepped on the gas pedal and watched the needle on the speedometer move up. I could hear the noise created by the speed of my Rover as it smashed through the cold and dark dead calm air outside. The sound of it was more noticeable than the music that was playing. My senses seem to heighten even more. I could have heard a pin drop. I could hear the increasing pace of my blood flow and feel the pressure in my temples. I could feel my heart in my chest along with the tightness that was gripping me. I felt resolute. Relief began to wash over me; I felt something inside of me begin to relax.

The quickened pace of the carousel of images that were flashing before me began to slow as I was brought to images of my wife and children. Tears began to stream down my face blurring the road before me. I wiped them away with my sleeve. With the sudden arrival of anger born out of the powerlessness I felt I punched the button on the radio to turn it off. The radio would never play another song after that like I would never see another look in the eyes of those closest to me. The ones that I hurt the most. The ones I was about to hurt for the last time.

I just couldn't go on. I couldn't deal with the pain anymore.

As I drew closer to the set of poles that I knew would do the job, I pushed the truck as hard as I could. I held the gun tighter. One hundred. That was the number I was looking for on the dashboard and it had reached 90 when I looked down. I raised the gun to my head. I could still hear the air smashing against the truck, could still feel the coldness creeping in from outside.

I began sobbing and my body began to shake uncontrollably. The fear that I would fail at this like I had failed at so many other things in life quickly gripped me. I tried to calm myself. I was fast approaching the set of poles I knew would work as the truck flew at a hundred miles an hour. My finger tightened on the trigger. Absolute relief would soon be had.

"Stop. I am not done with you yet."

This was one of the familiar voices in my head. This voice was . It was . Surreal. Though I immediately moved to protest the suggestion it was far too commanding to allow that to happen. There was no negotiating with it.

My finger eased up on the trigger as my foot let up on the gas pedal.

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Was it odd? Or was it God?