At the lowest points in my life, I would sometimes take a break from beating myself up, to think on dying, and the supposed release from the pain. I'd think about the point just after, and compare an eternity of nonexistence to a moment more of existence. I would meditate on the simplest of moments - dragging my hand across a textured wall as I walk down the hall, a whiff of Playdoh, or that fall day when the low-slung sun shimmered though the yellowing leaves as I walked home after work. Compared to an unfathomable nothing - a less than nothing, because you aren't there to even appreciate that nothingness. Which was better?
There was always "one more thing". A taste, a smell, a touch, a sound, a sight, a feeling. Just one more, I'd say, and then I'm all set. But, if I could live a life just coming up with "one more thing", and just kept doing that, it would be infinitely better than the less-than-nothing. It could be one block...and you could build from there.
If you fail to go to sleep before the steel-blue of the early dawn, put on something warm (if appropriate) and head outside. Walk out into that retiring night, and I will be with you there in spirit as a dawntreader. Howl like a wolf and scream like a banshee in the direction of the light and know that you have made it through another dark night of the soul. You won. Go back home, make some eggs and tea, and hit the hay.
Best wishes fellow travelers.
