Je ne sais pas

There is a solemnity with which I go about things most days, any more. Tinged with melancholy it at times seems to contain a sense of finality as well. Beyond that it is very difficult to describe.

I first noticed it some three months past, at the end of December. Just three weeks ago I experienced something very similar. And now here we are again. If I am to be honest the solemnity and it's tinge of melancholy are present as often as not any more. What makes these three instances different (three months ago, December, three weeks ago, the beginning of March, and now) is the sense of preparing for something, and the sense of finality. This time around the reason for the sense of finality is vague and I have a feeling that I am reticent to admit it to myself. And the other two times..? To be honest it was a sense of impending death. My own. By my own hand.

My suicide.

At neither time did I have an actual plan, apart from the 'If I did it I'd do it this way'. There was no (real) intent. Each time it was simply a feeling that it was coming and that what I was doing was in some way preparation. I cannot recall what that preparation was three months ago. Three weeks ago it was, among other things, I'm sure, a good cleaning of the apartment, something I hadn't done in ages.. This time (because let's face it; the reason for this sense of finality now is the same as the two times before, whether or not I want to admit it to myself), along with some basic tidying up, it was a purge of my closet and dresser. I filled one large black trash bag with cloths for Goodwill and ended up with three plastic grocery bags of clothing that needs thrown out. Now, to be fair, it was all clothing that I never wore and/or that no longer fit. But the act in and of itself may not be as important as the melancholic solemnity with which it was done and the sense of finality with which it was accompanied.

This time, however, I am ambivalent to the idea of my suicide. This ambivalence confuses me a little, in light of the aforementioned sense of finality. I worry that this sense of ambivalence will not be enough of a protective factor, however, and a time may come in the not too distant future when I finally say 'Enough, I'm done' and, without plan, give in.