I don't want to die. The sudden thought was strange. I could never envisage a
future; would it really matter if I died? Yes. I don't want to die. I want to live. I lay for a while, contemplating this new concept. I used to have dreams. When I first met Darryn, we talked about traveling Europe, having children, starting a business together. The thought of life ahead had excitement and adventure to it. We tried to save for a few years, but we just had too much debt. We had bought a rundown house, thinking to build it up and make it our own. We knew it was heritage land, but it had clearly been renovated before. When we were denied rights to renovate by the council, we were devastated. The house was unlivable, and we sold the property at a debilitating loss, ending up with a mortgage and no home. My dreams spiraled down, this constant shadow of failure looming over me like a dark storm cloud. When I found out I couldn't have children, I stopped caring about life, and Darryn stopped caring about me. I felt confused, because I didn't want my life, but I wanted to live. I wanted my dreams back. I wanted to laugh, and to cry, and to feel something inside. There was a crack in the black hole that my soul had become, and light was shining through like a beacon, pointing me to a destination that I could not fathom in my current state. But I could see it. I had felt something, in that ambulance: terror. Terror had cracked me open, so I had been able to feel again.
Darryn walked into my room an hour later, and came over to the bed. He sat down, slowly. He smelt of whiskey and cigarettes, a smell I detested. He asked if I was okay. I looked at him, but said nothing, my mouth formed into a thin line. I looked away, back at the blank T.V., and he sat back in his chair and put his hands up to his face.
“I'm glad you're alive.” The words were smothered by his hands. I looked over again, and stared. Who is this man – who sits next me in a hospital and says he cares? I hadn't noticed before, but now he looked as deflated and weak as I felt, attached to impersonal machines and needing assistance to stay alive. He lifted his head, as if he had felt my eyes boring into his despairing form. I smiled, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. A mix of confusion and surprise spread across his face, like a sunrise dawning over the earth.
“I want to be happy. I want to live.” My voice was soft, as talking took energy away from breathing.
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