This afternoon I almost slit my wrist intending to end my life.
But I stopped myself because I feared being saved. I feared failing in my attempt to kill myself, like I did fail once earlier.
If I fail, I know, I will not be able to face my aging parents with the guilt of having caused them more pain. [Clearly my concern is not the pain they will have to live with if I succeed but the guilt with which I will have to live if I fail. Yes, I am insensitive after all that I have lived through.] I have enough and more in my pocket already pushing me from the edge of life. If I have to fail and add more guilt into my pocketful of reasons to call it quits it would become impossibly difficult. The fear of failing and having to live with the guilt distracted my determination to set the trapped life free.
A while after I stopped myself from slitting my wrist I just wondered what a trap this life is… I stopped myself from killing myself out of fear of being saved!
What a joke! What an irony!
Life today has taught me that the imagination of Kafka too, about the Kafakaesque quality of life, was quite limited.