I counted them out in my hand Saturday afternoon.  A large part of my mind was merely exploring the landscape of death with no real intent to descend into it.  And then... there was the other part...

The day began well even though this had been "the Day" -- the Day I was going to announce I was leaving, packing up my things and leaving for good, taking my daughter (R.) along to an apartment not far from where we live.  It was to be the uncertain but positive "clean slate" to start a new life after years of what I have considered torment by L.  Yes, she had been relatively docile the last month or so.  Yes, she was making attempts to curb her abusive behavior, especially with R.  And yes, she was in greater need of my assistance and care due to ever-increasing backpain.  The knowledge of the pain made her latest efforts to be more civil even more heroic.  R. had stopped talking about trying to leave.  I was now on my own in the decision -- which of course is exactly where I should be all along.  Ultimately, this decision is something only I can make.

So as before, the decision for "The Day" became -- let's wait.

But when the Day finally came, I came to a realization of how utterly cowardly and shallow and selfish I have become.  I looked at what my life had been like five years ago, ten years ago, twenty years ago.  And I asked myself, "What has happened to you?  What have you done to yourself to become so miserable, so callous, so unfeeling about anyone or anything?  Why are you like this?"  And then, the BIG question my wife has asked repeatedly lately, "Why can't you just snap out of this?"

There are plenty of clinical responses to that, I suppose -- lots of reasons why I have become so depressed.  It's not fair to entirely blame L. or any one thing as the cause of it.  I only know what I know deep down in my gut -- I cannot be happy where I am in my life.  And much of that has to do with my marriage.

So, there they were -- my 27 little invitations to check out permanently from this existence.  I politely declined on the Day.  Politely, but probably, more like a shy, gawky teenager telling the Prom Queen "no thanks" to the invitation to dance.  After all, we all know what that's about.  It's about guilt.  It's about the embarassment of being labeled a failure.  But most of all, it's about fear -- fear that taking any action, any action at all, is too radical a choice to live with.  The devil you know is always better than the devil you don't.  I was once again drowning in fear on the Day.  And so the pills were safely stored in my sock drawer, once again waiting for another invitation, another ghastly day of realizing how terrible things were and how pleasant it might be for it to just go away for good.  And of course, most likely, also knowing that once that day came again, I would stare at the little light blue orbs for a long time, drown again in that fear again and put them away once more.

L. wants us to go on a trip for our 24th anniversary next week.  She has been begging for the opportunity to just get away.  I finally conceded to the most cost-effective option for the trip.  How ironic.  How stupid.  And yet, it is just the continuation, just the process I repeat as I try to make life with L. worth something.  I am debating as to whether I will bring my 27 friends with me when we go.