‘People never stay the same. It’s a fight between the strong and lame. I’ve some feelings that I can’t get through, so I’ll just binge on crack and tiramisu.’ – Shoot Doris Day, Super Furry Animals.
And that, in a nutshell, is as good as any other synopsis of life I’ve heard. Not to put a downer on things, you understand. No, no, the sun is shining up here in the hills and the prospect of a good day hangs large and ripe above me. There are still a few days left until my next dose of Trauma Therapy. Small mercies and all that, but fear is pretty far from my mind. I suppose it’s easy not to feel afraid of the day when I’m not on the end of a cruise missile, or an anthrax bomb, or in the path of some warped jihadi’s ten ton beer delivery truck (the irony). On this hill I am far from the minds of anyone who would intentionally set out to harm me. It’s a quirk of fate/chance/birth, I know. That’s all. It makes me sick to think I’m automatically safer than millions of human beings just by virtue of my nationality and skin colour.
In the warm light of a Mar-a-Lago morning, Donald Trump will not ponder on any of the above. He has already washed the urine off his face and is chomping wearily on his cornflakes. His mental health status (and diagnosis) is undefined and uncertain, unlike mine, but his finger is on the trigger and his brain is churning with wild and crazy ideas. He has the power to order a CIA hit on me at a moments notice. It’d be a simple operation: force tablets down my throat, leave a badly scrawled note about my mental state, done. No awkward questions. No need for the crash and bang of fifty nine cruise missiles – one hell of a sabre rattle. No explaining to people.
But there is no point to any of that: war, killing, my assassination. Nobody has the right to decide who lives and dies. Except myself….in regards to myself. I’ve pressed the launch button four times in my life – target, me. I had the power, the motive, the warped argument for ending my life. I missed, obviously. There were no civilian casualties and no collateral damage. No news story.
This is not an advert and an affirmation for the act of suicide. And, to be honest, with the sun breaking through and the blue skies opening up out there, I’m pretty far from thinking about that sort of thing in any positive light at all. Today I am strong, I have feelings that I can get through. In my Mar-a-Lago my finger is not itching. I am not crazed with power on top of the already crazed processes that lurk and jump around in my brain. I have the safety catch on. Today you need not fear me or my decisions.