Let me apologize...

This morning, I woke up at 7am on the downstairs couch, and for two hours, I seriously contemplated why I shouldn’t end my life. It happens just like that, with no flurry of emotion or tears. Just “Man, fuck this. I should just end it.” I picture all of the methods I could use and that one that didn’t work. I want to say that I’m detached from myself in these moments, because I picture it like a movie, watching from above as I throw myself into a ravine. But I can’t say I’m detached because I’ve seen it in first-person as well. I know there’s no coming back. I know that it will most likely hurt. I mean, I’m the person who can’t even get suicide right (even though I know I’m one of many).

I’m getting more comfortable with the word, even though it’s still heavy on my tongue. Suicide. Emphasis on that “I” in the middle. Does this mean I’m getting closer, or does it mean that the previous attempt has become part of my past, something I’ve reckoned with and accepted. If that’s the case, then where the hell do I stand on it, because I cannot say with any certainty that I’m glad I didn’t die.

My car hydroplaned on the highway in August. I slammed the front of it into the divider. I wasn’t trying to die. The damage to the car put my parents out three grand. I guess it’s one of the twisted things, that I wouldn’t kill myself by way of motor vehicle because that’d put my parents out a car. Yes, that’s right, in my mind, a Toyota Camry, the most owned car in America, has more value to me than my own life.

But getting back to it, I wasn’t trying to die there. But nothing happened. My car was smoking, my glasses flew off my face, but I didn’t have a scratch on me. And you know what my first thought was?

“What the hell do I have to do to die around here?”

I’ve told some people this, out of context of course, and their reactions were all *gasp* “That’s terrible, why would you think that?”

Oh you know, because I tried it once.

It just sits in the back of my mind. I’m planning my life out, trying to figure out alternatives. Something that will let me graduate in May with a bit of peace. But everytime something goes wrong, Death is my go-to-guy.

I believe that something comes after this. I can’t say for sure if it’s a skeleton in robes, St. Peter and his pearly gates, or Dante’s shitty seventh circle middle ring. And I wonder what they’ll make of me. I wonder what they’ll tell me. With my luck, they’ll tell me that had I stuck around one more day, I would have found the secret of life and happiness. Will they give me some kind of comfort, even though they’ll probably think I’m a fool? To live two lives of misery would be terribly unfair, don’t you think?

The problem however is that we don’t know when that one day is, or when that one crucial choice comes up. And if we keep waiting for it, will it ever come? What justification can anyone give me for just waiting around?

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