The Musings of a Dark Mind

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Survival Instincts

Major trigger warning for depression and suicide ahead. Read with caution 🖤

“Do you have the tools?” The operators voice is cool, calm and collected. She is trained to do this.

Thinking the question over I look around at the tools I have collected for the task at hand;
A sharp knife,
A bottle of pills,
A bottle of bourbon,
A goodbye letter, not a tool, but still necessary.
They are laid out on the kitchen floor before me.

“Yes.” My voice is quiet and raspy as the one human instinct left inside me flights with all its might.

Survival.

“Do you have a plan?” When she answered the call she said her name is Helen. I wonder how long Helen has been doing this. I wonder how many callers she has lost. I wonder if any completed their task while on the phone to her.

My plan. I have a plan. Deep and detailed. Not a single possible hiccup forgotten, except the survival instinct which is the only thing holding the phone to my ear.

I look at the pills. Chemical based sleeping pills. 10 in one dose could kill me in a few hours. The whole bottle will see to it much quicker. Washed down with bourbon for good measure.

My eyes roam to the knife. My hunting knife. I spent all afternoon sharpening it with a diamond file. The simple weight of the knife itself was enough to slice through some superficial layers of skin when i tested it earlier. It glints in the light of my kitchen. Calling to me.

Shaking my head I blink and look away, remembering the question Helen had asked of me. “Yes,” i reply again. Still quiet. Still fighting.

“Are you prepared to carry out your plan?” Cool. Calm. Collected.

That’s just the question isn’t it. Am I prepared. I was. Everything was in order, then as I reached for the pills I found myself picking up my phone instead and calling the helpline. It was a completely unconscious action. I had no control.

Survival took over.

Again.

Just when I thought I had it all under control.

I open my mouth to answer when a demon inside my head decides to put his two cents in.

“Do it,” he whispers, scratching his ugly claws at old wounds.

“You’re a loser,” taunts another from within the darkness inside my head.

“You can’t even carry out a simple task.” They are everywhere inside my head now, screaming, scratching, clawing viciously at barely healed scabs.

“Robert?” Helen’s voice questions if I’m still alive. The demons have wrapped themselves around my vocal chords and are filling my throat, choking me, silencing me.

I try to scream for help. Nothing comes out.

I can’t breathe.

They are killing me!

I drop to my knees in the kitchen, gagging on my own demons. The phone drops from my hand as I grab at my throat, hoping to pull the demons off, but they are inside.

The knife glints at me.

I could cut them out.

It’s sharp enough now. I could cut them out and kill them all.

Picking up the beautiful knife I know so well I see my own reflection in the side of the blade before I plunge it into my own throat, slicing out the demons in one foul swoop.

I lay back on the floor and look up at the ceiling. I feel better now that those demons are out of me. They might be crawling around on the floor somewhere right now but I’ll deal with them later. Right now I need to sleep. I’m getting very tired.

I close my eyes.

Time to drift away.

“Robert? Hello... Robert? Robert this is Helen, are you there?”

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