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Life consists mostly of taking beatings we don't
deserve and not getting the comforts we have honestly earned.
It's hoping and working and trying for something and never quite
reaching our goal, because disappointment and failure always
manage to block the path. We realize people don't change,
but we hang all of our future on the possibility that we may
be able to change them. We know dreams don't come true,
but we stubbornly protect our fragile, unobtainable illusions.
I can understand a suicide. He keeps trying in his own
petty, insignificant way to do something right. I can
understand him, because that's all I want, too. It really
isn't asking too much, is it? Most of us just want to do
something, once in a while and have it turn out right... To
put something together and have it fit... To start something
and actually be able to finish it with satisfaction... To build...
To help... To be needed... To touch something, now and then,
and not see it fall away to dirt and uselessness.
Pretty soon, the potential suicide comes to realize, like
most other folks, that as people we aren't important at all.
In fact, since every move we make is wrong or misunderstood,
since we always manage to hurt those closest to us, the world
and especially those we love would be much better off without
us.
Some of us never learn to take the beatings with a
smile or to give up the comforts, without fighting back.
And somehow everything gets mixed up and instead of fighting
for our fine, noble ideals, we're just plain fighting and
making everyone miserable, including ourselves.
No, this isn't a suicide note! I'm staying right here!
Whether my motives are cowardice or bravery is debatable.
I favor the cowardice angle, for there's so little of value
left in me. My courage has drained away with each conviction
I failed to uphold, or perhaps it is more accurate to say with
each conviction I failed to uphold in the right way. That
covers all of them!
Once long ago, I listened as a minister explained why
God made his followers suffer. I was impressed, but I
have never been a regular church goer, so that can't be the
answer to my constant detours along the path of life.
So where does that leave me? I'll tell you!
When my time comes, I won't get into heaven, because
although I suffered on earth, I didn't believe. And I'll
probably give Saint Peter a small, sarcastic smile, to
hide those familiar tears of defeat and say:
"You know.... That's the story of my life!"
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