Page 31 - The Houseguest

The first year spent alone in our Manhattan home, it felt as though my mind had received a switchblade plunged into its core. At times the pain was so intense, my body developed a defense mechanism, an emotional detachment from my own thoughts. It was as though my brain had separated into compartments, each housing the memories of my three separate lives: the young successful arrogant attorney, the smitten husband and doting father, and the existence I was currently forced to endure. Every day became more difficult to continue the motions. I would consciously focus on my breathing, inhaling in, exhaling out, yet still found myself exploring various ways to get this act to cease. Drowning was always an option.
Lying awake at night, staring into the darkness, I would imagine various scenarios with surprising clarity. Each time a scene repeated, a new piece would be added, until the task, including the most minute detail, was completed. One situation involved driving to Beck’s Hardware on 53rd Street to purchase 30 ft. of 3⁄4” Manila Rope, a heavy fiber made from hemp. The additional length would allow me to practice my knot-tying abilities until I perfected the loop that would hold my torso securely as it hung from the balcony. I had first considered the strong hook where our chandelier had been hanging for years, but opted for a more public place to guarantee discovery before much decomposition had occurred. One by one, I had lost touch with any friends and most of our family. Thus, hanging myself inside our huge condominium could result in weeks or months before the authorities were asked to perform a welfare check. A more probable outcome would be that my body’s rotting stench would alert the
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The Houseguest by Linda Ellis www.LindaEllis.life