Not Ready; August 21 2023

Content warning: talk of death and suicidal ideation.

It’s been a full week! My kid and I just got back from visiting family on the fringes of Quebec. Five and a half hours on a train is one hell of a thing, for a five year old.

One of the things my mom and I talked about was death. It sounds grim, but it was a good conversation; she’s at an age (and so are her kids) where her biggest fear about dying is making us sad that she’s gone. Now that I have a kid on my own, I think I get that more than I ever have.

I grew up actively suicidal. When I thought about dying and leaving everyone behind, I also didn’t want anyone to mourn me. My hope was that everyone would feel better off, now that they didn’t need to worry about me anymore. But my last real attempt to end my life was 14 years ago, and while I’ve reached some dark places since then, I’ve never tried again.

Now, with my kid in my life, I don’t want to die. I’m not ready, and I won’t be ready until I know for sure that she’ll be okay without me.

I still have a will drawn up, mind you, because no one knows what’ll happen next in our lives. Following the SWAT raid on our home, especially, I worry I’ll die in some horribly traumatic way that leaves scars on her. It’s paranoia I have to actively fight.

… Also, honestly, making things ‘okay’ for her ties into my writing. I have some insurance that will forgive part of my debt if I were to die tomorrow, but not all of it. I just need one decent deal in traditional publishing, I think, to wipe my debt away and guarantee a better life for her. But it won’t happen until I secure that deal, and that won’t happen until I’ve written the One Book that captures the right attention.

Every query I sent to a literary agent has so much more weight to it than they realise. But, with any luck, I’ve got enough time left in my life to make this slow industry take notice.