I always had this vision of a gun pointed at me, the end of the barrel touching my forehead, or inside my mouth. There’s a hand on the trigger, ready to end all things; good, and especially, bad.
I don’t know whose hand was it, though. It always changes. Sometimes it’s my hand holding the gun, sometimes it’s a stranger’s hand.
It doesn’t always fire. It’s just there… taunting me. Haunting me. Making me want to plead whoever was holding the gun to just pull the trigger. And when it does…
I die. On the inside.
I feel that I’m suddenly free. I’m free of all these Earthly things that make my life hell.
But it leaves me immediately – the vision – and leaves me wanting for more.
It leaves me wanting for more freedom.
It leaves me wanting to die. For real.
I stopped having that vision. Maybe it’s because of the fact that I’m kind of feeling better.
A few days ago, however, I had another vision.
The gun is further away from me, but nonetheless ready to do its job. Given the distance, I was able to see who was holding it.
It was me. In a black clothing, with a very serious affect. She was just there, I mean I was just there, pointing a gun towards me. She doesn’t give away anything with her eyes, or her lips, or the way she stood her ground.
She doesn’t pull the trigger.
The vision ends there.
I don’t know what the meaning of these two visions are. I don’t know why the first one stopped, and I certainly don’t know why another one popped in my head.
Do they say something about me? Maybe.
Maybe it has something to do with my depression. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I wanted to die. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I don’t really want to die, but to be just free. Free from all my suffering.