Alishon's Goodbye

[Ayshela]

Alishon’s Goodbye

 

Alishon sat at her favorite table writing a letter, or at least, trying to. By now the noise from the other tables barely registered in her mind, having become familiar background sounds. With a wry smile she thought "Perhaps i should call these 'Letters from the coffee shop', except that it would seem gross personification. i've never seen a coffee shop write letters."

 

One way or another, here she was again. Her favorite table, her current notebook, purple pen, cup of chai - everything she needed to capture her thoughts and distill them to their essence of meaning. So why, this time, was it not working?

 

"Well, what is it that i want to say? What do i want him to understand?"

 

Thinking about it for a moment, she wondered "Are those, in fact, two different questions?"

 

Concluding that they probably are separate things, she put pen to paper and began to write.

 

~~~~~

 

My dearest friend, anchor for my wayward heart and soul, i'm sorry. Through all the years and all the tears, i've tried. Goddess knows, i've tried.

 

And so have you. Late nights and early mornings, when dark of night meets hollow soul, you have been there. When the strength of failure rides the tide of terror to the towering cliffs of despair, you are there to hold my hand and talk me back down.

 

She stops writing for a moment, hearing a whisper in the back of her head which asks:

 

What do you want of me?

Who shall i be?

How shall i shape myself?

What would you see?

 

As the whisper falls silent again, for the moment, Alishon begins to write again.

 

The hours you've spent seem numberless, as do the ways of your support. You've held me while i slept, dried my tears and chased my fears. You've scaled the walls of my defenses until you discovered the terrors that drive my nightmares. Amazingly, you've NEVER held me to blame for what was done to me or for my means of survival. i know you don't like it. i appreciate your attempts to understand.

 

Slice my skin and shape my soul,

cut a hole to make me whole.

 

As much as i appreciate your attempts to understand, so do i value your refusal to condemn. While the rest of the world sees me as evil, or a bad influence, unstable and inconsistent, you've tried to understand the forces behind those reactions and never condemned me for trying, and failing, to cope. You've never condemned my failure, full stop. i've tried, and failed, at so many things in the time you've known me: marriage, parenting, the job world, even volunteering scares me senseless! i've tried, and failed, at making myself into what i should be. i haven't even managed to figure out what that should be. And yet you're there, picking me up and brushing me off after yet another miserable failure - which you refuse to see as such.

 

Trace the panic, laced with pain.

Run the gauntlet yet again.

 

i wish, oh how i wish, that i could find some way to be other than i am. There is something in me, something dark, evil, twisted. Something which takes my every attempt to do something good, something supportive, something helpful, and turns it into something vile and destructive despite my best efforts and intentions. The best that i can do is damage control. The best that i can do is try to minimize the damage done by my best efforts to help.

 

Long black sleeves

can hide a multitude

of sins.

 

My friend, i hope you understand this, if nothing else. i can't do this any longer. i can no longer endure this weight of evil. i can no longer live my life on terms of damage control, and facing inevitable failure at even that. i can no longer bear the harm i do those i care most about, simply by being here, by being near them. i can no longer bear my failure to control this evil, twisted thing inside me which destroys everything i come in contact with.

 

Goodbye, my darling, my dearest, goodbye

 

i hope that some day, some way, you find what you're looking for. i'm sorry for all the time, attention, and energy i've drained over the years. Forgive me, if you can, for i cannot forgive myself. Goodbye, my friend, goodbye.

 

~~~~~

 

Addressing the envelope, Alishon left the coffee shop and walked to a nearby mailbox. Dropping the letter into the slot she turned with a sad half smile and said "He said i had to say goodbye. He never said how."

 

Walking to her car she took from the hatch the bottle of pain pills and half bottle of scotch she had brought with her. Placing them in a bag on the floor of the back seat, she got in her car and drove off into the county to a rarely used dead-end road. Parking the car, she carefully placed on the dash a letter for her partner apologizing for failing him, giving him her love and setting him free. Retrieving the bag from the back seat she emptied the bottle of pills and swallowed the contents as quickly as she could. Chasing the pills with her favorite scotch, she read the letter to her kids, now safely at their dad's. Between the i'm sorry's and i love you's, apologies for failing them, for not being the mother they deserved, and the hope that no influence would be better than a bad influence, the tears Alishon had refused to shed began to fill her eyes. With blurring vision she folded and sealed the letter, kissed it and set it on the dash as well. With a sleepy sigh she leaned the seat back a bit, lay back, and closed her eyes. As a tear slid down her cheek she mumbled "i'm sorry", and slipped into sleep, reaching for the peace she'd never been allowed to find.

Edited October 15, 2003 by Ayshela

[Kalypso]

It's well written Ayshela.

 

The main charactor does not have my sympathies. She thinks she's doing the world a favor but in reality she's being selfish. I was aggravated by the main charactor's thought process and actions. I knew someone just like her, maybe that's why.

 

Please don't take this as criticism, it's actually a compliment in a convoluted way. You struck an emotional chord, although, it may not be the one you intended. Or maybe it is?

[Ayshela]

a chord is a chord, and i knew it would hit at least one of two.

 

That she does not have your sympathies is hardly a surprise, truth be told. In her world, she wouldn't expect to. Understanding is far too much to ask for, sympathy is an abstract word in the dictionary.

 

i do appreciate your comments. Thank you.

[Alaeha]

It's quite well done, I think... though I have one spot that did kind of bug me...

 

The end of the first section changes from past to present tense for no apparent reason.

 

Thinking about it for a moment, she wondered "Are those, in fact, two different questions?"

 

Concluding that they probably are separate things, she puts pen to paper and begins to write.

simply changing puts to put, and begins to began (as well as are to were") would be sufficient to put it into past tense, and would (in my own opinion) help that part of it a great deal.

 

To be perfectly honest... I'm not sure I can really sympathize with the character, myself. Her view is rather distorted... generally, the sorts of people who worry that they aren't good enough for their friends are fine, from my observations. (I may be mistaken here, though... I don't have much to base it on. Just the fact that Alishon has an attitude much like my Mom's, and she's quite a good parent)

 

*Hugs*

 

As I said... it's quite well done. And it certainly strikes chords.

[Ayshela]

hah! good point, and good catch. **reaching for edit button**

thanks!

[Regel]

“Alishon's Goodbye” is the story of a tortured soul seeking its release. How interesting the way you juxtaposed this sad poetry into your narrative.

 

The story seriously scare me Ayshela and not in a good way. The writing is powerful stuff but the intimacy you seem to have with this characters state of mind shocked me. I knew I was reading a suicide note from this point

 

 

"My dearest friend, anchor for my wayward heart and soul, i'm sorry. Through all the years and all the tears, I’ve tried. Goddess knows, I’ve tried."

 

I feel great sympathy for this character you created. Her illness is no different than any chronic pain sufferer but the illness is as real as cancer.

 

This work of fiction (it is fiction?) has done what the last three Stephen King novels failed to do, scared me and come to a quick conclusion.

Edited October 16, 2003 by Regel

[Ayshela]

Good catch, Regel. That is, indeed, the point at which that becomes true. My apologies, however, i had not intended to frighten or upset anyone.

 

How to explain.. (isn't that always the question?)

 

This is an issue i am intimately familiar with, from *both* sides. i was the only one there to piece my aunt back together, and hold her together, when she was officially informed of her husband's death due to suicide. i have seen, and i have felt, the non-comprehension.. the anger born of pain and fear.. the guilt i dared admit to noone..

 

But, as you noted, i have also been aware of the depths of the despair that put the gun in his hand. The pain, the shame, the utter worthlessness.. walking around feeling dead inside - yet perversely hoping no one will notice you're already dead because they'll kill you if they find out.. and the absolute, core deep knowledge that even if the absurdly unlikely happened and anyone cared, they would never understand.. i know it. i've felt it.

 

i also know it can be survived.

 

Again, this was not intended to frighten or upset anyone. This was born of a burning need to effectively communicate the thought process to someone who had ranted at me on the topic once too often to simply let go. It was posted here because of the sure knowledge that if ever there were to be found understanding, it would be here. I had not expected to also find honest caring and concern, and for that i thank you.

 

To find that there are those who understand..

To find that there are those who care enough to question..

valuable things indeed, for anyone.

 

Yes, this is fiction. But as for what it actually is, you described it very precisely in your first sentence.

[Zariah]

I think a good handful of writers here at the pen can relate to this post. I, personally, have been through this. Unfortunately and fortunately I failed (heh, due to caring parents who put me in the ER several times and hospitals) but it definitely struck a chord. Oddly enough, I did not feel pity for her, or sadness for her. I felt sorry for her mate, her children. I felt that she could have tried to get help somewhere else, and that she gave up too soon.

 

It's all most likely a way of personal perception, especially in this case, where i am a reader and not familiar with the author's intent of this poem.

 

Not only was this a well written piece, but it fits as a reminder that everyone here at the pen is a survivor in one way or another, and that we don't need to be in the drivers seat with pills and a bottle of scotch. we have each other, and there are a lot of people we can turn to.

 

As for you, Ayshela, keep writing these pieces that address the uncomfortable topics, so that if we can be open about thse sorts of things with our trusted friends, they can survive too.

[Beautiful Nightmare]

O wow i had a lump in my throat reading this letter of goodbye so much emotion in it all i could say when finished it was WOW! well done hun! *hugs* very well wriiten and just wow! So sad.