I didn't acknowledge to my friends how my prospective death had elaborated itself and how I imagined it as sudden, violent, and pointless. I made contingency plans. I became less attached to the idea of a future. I even took comfort in the smallness of one life relative to the vastness of generations. The move I was faced with making was now more clearly internal.
Some people wander away never to come back.
During this time, I was more aware of her presence, much more aware of how I was able to call to her. I admitted that I had tried to kill her, and I accepted that awesome responsibility. If I decided to live, she implied, I could not do so without also deciding to write. I decided to live. I decided I would wait with the ever-present threat of being mute, or being silenced by the reactions of others.