... But let it be. Horatio, I am dead; Thou livest; report me and my cause aright To the unsatisfied.
Never believe it:
I am more an antique Roman than a Dane:Here's yet some liquor left.
As thou'rt a man,
Give me the cup: let go; by heaven, I'll have't.
O good Horatio, what a wounded name,
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me!
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart
Absent thee from felicity awhile,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,
To tell my story.
Hamlet
For those who follow these post, you might know that my dear son Nick hastened into this god night. Well, it is now almost 6 months ago, but only last night.
But I feel cursed. Suicide seems a family trait.My father. my son, others. These past few months have been as bad as you can imagine. Oh, I have a few supportive friends, a partner who tolerates and cares for me in equal measure and doctors who are wise in when to express sympathy and when to challenge. Most others are useless. My bosses way of support was to advise that they didn't feel I'm "a good fit" at this time. I little cared. We maddies are use to platitudes.
Anyway, I'm posting this by way of reassuring BB online monitors, who I feared interpreted a previous post that I may be suicidal. To praraphrase one of my favourite TV shows Sling and Arrows, when the lead character Geoffory Tennant is ask by a Police Officer after a pub brawl if he is a suicide risk, he quibs "isn't everybody" But for myself,I'm more like Haratio than Hamlet. I wish I wasn't. And there are never gurrantees. My doctor finds it acceptable that I've no wish to add to his gallery of the dead but it is a professional hazard. He sort to reassure me that my father and son would have been in a dissociatiated state when they died. I'm not completely convinced. I certainly reserve it for myself to die I chose clear headed. But we have a safety plan; I report in, take my medication, follow advice and stay away from dangerous locations.
I find solance is Ophelia's lament. "And
will he not come again?
And
will he not come again?
No,
no, he is dead:
Go
to thy death-bed:
He
never will come again.
His
beard was as white as snow,
All
flaxen was his poll:
He
is gone, he is gone,
And
we cast away moan:
God
ha' mercy on his soul!
And
of all Christian souls, I pray God. God be wi' ye."
Anyway, allow me m pain. It tells me Nick was alive and I loved him. Its my journey and I would wish anyone else to join me.
.
