Broken Record
This is not a cry for help article. However, this Saturday is Suicide Prevention Day, which falls in the same month as Aurélie's 4th year anniversary, as well as my family's current condition, so I am now invited back into "the hole."
It wouldn't be an unfamiliar sentiment, and I'm sorry if I sound like a broken record. It’s just there are so many times when I just don't want to be here, like when I close my eyes and the darkness falls over me and I can travel to all the loved ones I've lost. My ‘ideal’ kind of death would be: all memories of me were deleted from everyone's minds so they wouldn't experience the anguish, no knowledge of anything, not even my own death or the life I lived before. Simply vanish, and that is finite.
Lately, I have been struggling & terribly missing my late close friend Aurélie, I thought I was alright for a while since I could run, exercise, and meditate. But this morning I just slipped into a doom, agony of remembering how much I crave for her presence. It hurts so badly, I miss her, I miss her eyes and eyebrows. All the tiniest snippets of memories would flash through my head while as I was sobbing hysterically. Yes, I realise I’m wallowing in self-pity but I couldn’t help but to reflect on my own social life: I’m not sure if really had any friends. We all live isolated lives in London these days, and I am finding it tough to get together for social events. Or gradually, we lost connections with some friends or they are relocating outside of London. My world has been reduced into a two-person cocoon in a one-bed flat that sometimes feels so brittle and vulnerable, that a gust of wind can just destroy us. Here, I’ve finally caught up with the loneliness epidemic.
Jonathan's caretaker has not worked for us since June, and my father has taken over as his carer again. So it's all back to square one now. It's been difficult, especially with my parents' living situation (they're still very much together but 'live' separately): Every evening, my mother cooks dinner at Johnny's place and then returns home, but my father spends the night at my brother's flat and looks after him throughout the day. My father is growing older, and I'm not sure how much longer he can carry on. Acupuncture, physiotherapy, and music therapy have shown some improvement. However, it is proceeding at a snail's pace, with several setbacks.
This aftermath of Autoimmune Encephalitis illness has robbed away his youth, mobility, aspirations, career, social life, and ability to live independently - and the rehabilitation is extremely intricate. Sometimes I simply wish I could swap places with him because moments like this I genuinely feel like there isn't anything going on in my life anymore. I wish my younger brother (who is more intelligent and talented than me) could continue instead of me. Yet, fate can be so cruel but humbling at times.
I don’t think life could possible throw such a curve ball at us. But from my parents, I have (with my very own eyes) witnessed the highest degree of selflessness and devotion. It is a very loud yet quiet declaration of love – one that I’m not sure I’m capable of. For that matter, I might just stick around for little while longer. Or, if necessary, go to the cinema and have a cathartic cry.
A list of melancholic films spring to mind:
Eternity and a Day (1998) - Theo Angelopoulos
Time to Leave (2005) - François Ozon
Bastille from Paris, Je T'aime (2006) - Isabel Coixet (The tune that Mirandra Richardson hums in "Bastille" segment - "Le Tourbillon" from Jules et Jim. It breaks my heart every time.)
Beginners (2010) - Mike Mills
