Way back in my twenties, you know, well before dirt, I went through this phase when sometimes, as I was driving with my first husband as my passenger, I would have an almost overpowering compulsion to veer into the concrete medians on the left-hand side of the freeways. And crash the car. You know, just to see what would happen.
I once asked him if he had these thoughts. Umm, no. Apparently sane people don't have these thoughts. Who knew? After he freaked out, I never mentioned it again. I was learning about boundaries then.
I don't think it was just the Atlanta traffic that put me in the mood, as awful as it was.
I have recently learned some disturbing news about my mom, and her desire, way back when I was about eight years old, to make an auto-driven getaway from life.
Damn that thick blood. Guess I came by my strange thoughts honestly.
She at last achieved her release, nine years later, with no cars involved.
So many new twists to this horrible story.
I will never actively act to end my life, but…but what? The possibility to do such is just a neuron's synapse away.