Because it's not always the quiet ones you have to watch.
'It is a warm summer morning and outside my open window the sky is blue, birds are singing, the air is sweet with jasmine from my garden. As I sit to type this, I exhale and feel the word “suicide” – it’s a word so familiar and heavy, it is the cold jagged shape of this word that I know too well. I have just had a bad phonecall. This week, a friend of mine took an overdose. I cannot stop thinking about it, about her, about her intention and everything that she has left behind. It’s a bad word, suicide, isn’t it? Once you have suicide in your history, it sticks to your insides and coughs up questions that renew every time you come into contact with it again. You cannot help but remember other people you loved and lost, people you couldn’t save. You try to avoid the clichés, but they come flooding in, the ones about having so much to live for…"
"When my father hung himself, it was a pane of glass we carried between us for the rest of our lives. It took decades to talk and write about it. In the playground, some kid told me that people who kill themselves don’t go to heaven or hell, they go somewhere else. And, ever since then, I always pictured a party of extrovert ghosts ie my kind of people: beautiful characters, larger than life, creative, talented and funny spirits, and, as I write that, Robin Williams comes to mind, because it’s not always the quiet ones you have to watch.”
New work from Salena Godden features excerpts from 'Springfield Road'
Published today in The Pool Read full piece here
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