But here’s the thing. This is not something you can understand. This is more personal than anything I’ve ever felt before…
Elle B. Hunter (November 3, 2019)
…This is between me and God.
“Let The Mourning Period Begin”
918 Grand Ave, St Paul, MN 55105
Where my last alcohol came from, July 31 2019
“It was a goodbye not a relapse.”
Elle B. Hunter
Waking up in the E.R.
7 hours from her last moment of consciousness
Soundtrack to my Suicide
(November 4, 2019)
by Elle B Hunter
Speaking of completely personal situations.
That 48-hour period of time between deciding to go through with it and then actually going through with it. That might be the single most personal thing I’ve ever been through. Deciding on a playlist – Banks, mostly, with some Halsey sprinkled in. Deciding how to spend my last $300 (because you don’t need money in heaven or hell). Deciding exactly which pills I would need to buy and which alcohol I would choose to successfully supplement those pills as my liver did its job and killed me in the process. Deciding how I would spend the night prior. Deciding where I would go and what I would do in those last hours. Where I would be when I would start taking the pills and who’s faces I would look at and what face they would see (the face of someone in the process of attempting suicide is not going to like any face they’ve shown before. The sense of morbid and peaceful decisiveness glossing the eyes while they look out into the world they are, quietly and with no offense toward its people, shutting and locking the door on.
That first Benadryl and going into my purse for another every 10 minutes while I sat in that last AA meeting…looking at those faces I loved and saw almost every day…knowing those faces would still be here tomorrow, and those faces would not see mine
and those faces looking at me and me knowing that I was killing myself as I sat right there in front of them.
A sad and sick and twisted love affair with my life and AA and those people in it that I loved more than a person could ever love another.
These are the things that walked with me in battle and crossed 1 million little thresholds that said “yes I am choosing this”, “yes I am a killer”, “yes I am committing the ultimate act of sin and disregard for the human will to live”.
This was my final and ultimate act of defiance.
And this, too, was between me and God.
“Bowing is a common practice in Asia, both within and outside religious circles, a way of expressing respect and reverence, as well as a form of greeting. Tibetans bow and say tashi delek, meaning “excellent luck and auspicious good fortune to you.” Disciples and devotees bow to their teachers, to the gods, and to holy icons.
https://tricycle.org/magazine/bowing-portfolio-steve-mccurry/
Buddhists commonly offer bows when entering or leaving a temple, shrine, pilgrimage site, or spiritual circle of any kind, as well as when entering the presence of spiritual masters and teachers, acknowledging the presence of an embodiment of the principle of enlightenment. Zen Buddhists use a short form of the bow, simply placing their palms together at the heart and inclining the torso; this is called gassho in Japanese. Bringing the two hands together at the heart represents the reunion of all polarities and duality in our spiritual center, the heart of enlightenment.
Bowing is a way of being, a way of giving, of offering up and opening oneself. Bowing helps us to be centered in the present moment and become more uncomplicated, vulnerable, and humble. The seventh-century Indian Buddhist master Shantideva said that just to raise one’s hand in a gesture of respect and reverence sows the seed of enlightenment. Since his time, bowing has become an intensive spiritual exercise for Buddhists. The devout get down on their hands and knees and then lower themselves face down and flat on the floor; this is a full bow, called a prostration. This gesture symbolizes yielding, surrender, reverence, and taking refuge in that which is good, true, and holy. In fact, this outer form of reverence simply reflects an inner gesture of awareness.”
Looking for Layla: an autobiographical account by Elle B. Hunter, dedicated to Jeff Littner and his “cheerleaders with black and gold hearts”. 