The Suicide Rats

Lately, I don’t think very much about suicide. It’s not that I have been beating down suicidal impulses, but simply that when I’m doing better, I don’t think about dying. But then there was last night.


I wake up at 4 am, again this morning. I turn away from the alarm clock and press myself against my husband. Don’t think, I tell myself. Don’t think, and maybe you can go back to sleep. It doesn’t work. Deep, restful sleep is a phantom, a fairy maybe, flitting among the gradually greening trees,…