Basically, i got to have two lives — one before i jumped off the bridge, and one after.

But wasn’t i the same person before and after? Mostly, with some caveats.

On the other hand, i was also very different in some ways (and i felt very different). It was like the suicide attempt killed off part of me, a dark part of me; and the part that survived was a little lighter. It took me a while for me to grow into this new person — sort of like twenty years of growing up compressed into six months. Freaky.

In some sense, the suicide attempt actually was successful — i did kill off part of myself, and that made room for me to change.

~

Thirty-four years old, that’s how old the new me is. Wow, that’s appealing! What should i do as a 34-year-old? Woo-Hoo!

In that vein, i am tempted to take a winter rental in Provincetown; i’ve always wanted to live on the Cape — even temporarily — and there’s a UU church in P-town. Maybe next year.

~

Or, from a different point of view:

In 1991 i had given up on the world; i didn’t want any part of it. And so i killed myself.

This, for me, is merely the afterlife.