My biggest issue with Dad is his inability to understand what I’m saying. My life’s occupation has been to break down Hebrew (and rarely, English) into tiny fathomable bits. Undoubtedly, much is lost in translation, but after the process of verbal decomposition is finished: Dad was always able to understand what people are, more or less, telling him.
Often, the job included more advocacy than interpretation – which is defined (by me) merely as the conveyance of ideas, meanings and words between two participants using a human or mechanical mediator.
So now, when I am at my present condition, with my second suicide attempt unsuccessful (that was Wednesday, 10/6/2009), and I actually do need “to be saved” – I know that I can only be saved by an indestructable soul that can truly master the manipulation of words.
I need help. The only thing I know is that it will take a very large vocabulary to get through to me.
I live, breathe and flourish through words,
and now I may die without the right ones.