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It Would Be So Easy

** You’ll want to read That Fateful Saturday first, otherwise this might not make much sense

And it would oh so easy to do… a few hundred extra units of insulin.  I’d use a syringe since my pump simply didn’t hold enough.

But you know, once I got low enough it might become impossible to stop myself from eating my way out of that attempt.  Hmmm… you know I have a bunch of Vicodin left over from that 3rd degree sunburn last summer maybe I could wash three or four of those down with a couple of beers.  Dose myself when I began to get drowsy… that should keep me under long enough for the insulin to do its work.

That plan came so easy to me, like I was planning a trip to the gas station.  I’d had suicidal thoughts before during the decades of depression, but I had never gotten to the point of actually making a plan.  And it was so easy to plan, and I took so much comfort in thinking about it working perfectly.

The thought crossed my mind that I should take my son back to his mom’s so he wouldn’t find me, but it was a fleeting thought like I would have about which pump to use at the gas station.

I was past the point about caring for anyone or anything except my misery, sick of being a burden to everyone around me.  It had become all-consuming, it was all I could remember, all I could see at the moment and it filled my future.

But then a question occurred to me.  One I couldn’t answer.  I’ve always hated questions like that, I want the answer.  Out of habit, I focused on it, that question out of nowhere. As I lay there, the answer did occur to me and I hated it. But hating things about myself was nothing new…

The question? How could I prevent my children from asking “Why would dad rather be dead than with me?”

The answer?  I couldn’t.

And then another glimmer of a thought came through, maybe my Will Bother attitude spoke up.  I realized that I still cared for something more than my pain.  Something more than myself.  Something that was worth going though any amount of pain or misery for.

My children, I loved them more than any pain in my life.

I got out of bed and went to lunch with my son.

Read Part 3 at And Then It Became So Hard

© 2012 Scott Strange, Strangely Diabetic and

  • (((HUGS)))….such a powerful post Scott

  • Mom of Bean

    Man, I needed to read this. Thanks for sharing gut-level crap that no one really wants to talk about, but so needs to be ‘out there’ so others can benefit.
    On those really hard days, when it’s hard to see the point of going on, I will make myself remember that question because as much as it might seem they would be better off without me, I could never forgive myself for leaving my girls.

  • Such a powerful and honest post.

  • Knowing your are still here, didn’t stop my stomach from knotting up as I hurried to the end. I was frightened that the ending (or new beginning) I knew had happened already wasn’t really true. That you had never really been here to make me laugh, make me cry, or make me think. I cannot even begin to express how glad I am that you have been & will be here.

  • StephenS

    I was on the edge of my seat waiting for this post. Thanks for sharing this. Great decision making.

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  • Thank you, Scott, for opening up about this stuff. It’s a part of your healing. I can feel it from here.

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