Some Good?

I'm not sure where to start. Or indeed whether to start at all. Maybe I'm wiser to say nothing. But I cannot not post. For today is that day. 34 years since my sudden and cataclysmic descent into madness. 

A girl. A hangover. Sunshine. Myopia. Guilt. They all played a part on the sunny June morning at Selwyn College Cambridge. 

What happened next is recorded in books. In pain. In tears. In despair. And in suicide survival. 

All these years later I'm older, greyer, fatter and balder. But against the odds I survived. And that was a miracle. 

Who could have known that on the day my frail life collapsed in my entitled, decadent arrogance of youth so much would have impacted on so many lives?

My books, little read but some say inspiring  record the details and the pain. Did anyone ever give a more brutal, terrifying and accurate description of suicide? If they did I've never read it.

I'm a failed writer, a failure in relationships, a failure in family, a failure in Cambridge and a failure in what might have been. What happened happened because a bright young woman met a talented, clever but utterly flawed and traumatised man in Spain, got involved then walked away. Sound familiar from the last five weeks?

Alone again but loved, valued and respected. Could I ask for more after a lifetime of what ifs but utter failure?

I will listen to my music, look at my pictures and read my letters. I know not where she is, the woman who sent those letters. But wherever she is I hope her actions on that sunny June day in Cambridge has brought about some good. 

Many say I saved their lives. All I say is I just talk to people. 

I Heard a Voice.