Forget About Me

I can’t see very well out of my left eye. The bullet had taken a track different from what I intended. I thought that it would go straight through the middle of my brain, and I wouldn’t see a thing anymore, but here I am, lying on my side, pumping blood out of a gaping hole in my left temple, gasping like a fish out of water. Damn it. Seems I still couldn’t get a break.

I can feel the warmth oozing like molasses over my left socket, down my nose and in front of my right eye, which I can still see out of. There’s a clock hanging on the wall just to the left of an old recliner where Rebecca had been sitting not too long ago. I could see that I’d been out cold for about two minutes. It was now 12:02 a.m. I thought I would add some drama to the suicide by doing the deed at midnight exactly. What a joke. Even that extra touch wouldn’t go my way, pretty much like every thing else since I was born. That doesn’t matter now. What’s the point of self-pity if you’ve already checked yourself out over it? I see the gun lying about four feet in front of me. It must have flown from my hand after I pulled the trigger. The blood seems to be making a slow beeline to the black, unblinking eye of the pistol barrel. How poetic; me, my blood, and my gun, all linked at the end. I suddenly have two thoughts at the same time. I should finish the job/I wonder what it looks like. I really do want to know what the hole feels like, at least.

Strange. I can’t get my arms to work. I have the overwhelming urge to sit up, put my fingers into the hole and feel what I did to myself, but while I can see my right arm extended out in front of me, I can’t get it to move. That really sucks. I guess that means I did a lot more damage than I thought initially. It’s just lying right out there (my hand, that is), mocking me, two fingers screwed into a macabre peace sign. I suddenly want to laugh, but I think better of that considering my current predicament. I had heard that most people who survive suicide have a fleeting thought of how much they want to live right after they commit the act…not true for me. I’m actually a little pissed I’m still here, looking at that hand making fun of me. I want to die. I really do. It’s long past time for me to shuffle off this mortal coil. I had overstayed my welcome by a long shot. The things I had done, or not done, haunted me every waking moment of my sorry ass life.

Granted I’m only 28, but I’d done enough, been through enough, to know the rest of my life wasn’t worth the effort. Just as a side note, your life does flash before your eyes before you die. Not too many highlights in my retrospective until Rebecca pops into my mind. No surprise there. She was the last thing I’d seen or heard before I did this. The woman I tried to love had left me about a half hour ago. I’ll bet the seat where she sat and told me that she’d had enough is still slightly warm from her. It’s cliché as hell to say this is over a woman, and it’s not entirely true. While Rebecca might have been the straw that broke my camel’s back, she sure didn’t start piling it on. As a matter of fact, I can’t blame her for finally leaving. She hung in there like a trooper for much longer than I would have if our roles were reversed. I’m a loser, plain and simple. I’ve known that for longer than I care to admit, but like any loser worth his salt I denied it until, like any loser worth his salt, he finds himself lying in a pool of blood taking his last breaths. The funny thing is, I’m really quite smart, or was.

It’s 12:06. This dying thing is taking longer than I wanted. I once had my IQ tested at about 147. No one tells you when you’re younger that intelligence doesn’t equate to success. I’m a dying testament to that. All throughout high school I was the quintessential “has such potential” kid. I used to get quite a laugh out of the thought.. Potential for what? No one ever seemed to be able to tell me, so I grew into adulthood trying a million and a half things but never getting anywhere with any of it. I had some moderate success in a few ventures, but somehow it all seemed so hollow, so meaningless, that I eventually gave up and moved on to other “potential” ideas. Agh. None of this means anything. I guess my final potential has been realized. My ultimate success has been attained. I wonder what Mom would say about her baby boy now? 12:07.

Why would I suddenly think of Mom? What the hell is she doing here? She’s been dead for 6 years. Maybe it’s appropriate the only woman other than Rebecca that tried to support me would pop up. I remember Mom’s death had been slow and agonizing. She stayed so strong and positive through the whole ordeal, even as the cancer ate her alive and left her a flaxen husk at the end. Her last words to me were “Don’t forget me.” What a thing to say to your son. I suddenly wanted to cry and hocked a bright red blood clot instead. That’s weird. I guess some of the blood dripped into my mouth. My mouth. How much trouble had that gotten me? I always thought I knew better than everyone else and wasn’t afraid to tell you if I thought you were wrong. Turns out people don’t like people who act superior without anything to support that ideal. I guess not being rich or successful turned people off to my perspective of the hoary world. Ah, the world never got me anyway. I’m pretty sure they’re not going to miss me much. It’s 12:10, I think. The clock seems fuzzier and farther away.

Breath seems a lot harder to catch now. I can feel my whole system starting to slow down. It’s a very soothing feeling, surprisingly. I can’t recall a time in my wound up life that I felt so calm and relaxed. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I made the right decision to whack myself. Wait a minute. Was that a knock at the door? Where did that come from? Someone must have heard the gunshot and made a call. Crap. I hope it’s not Rebecca. I don’t want her to see me like this. I try to call out and tell whoever it is to go away but only gurbles and wheezes come out. Oh yeah, that’s right. I put the gun barrel in my mouth so I guess my tongue isn’t up for making sounds at the moment. That’s funny! I made a joke! I do laugh this time, but it’s not a very pleasant sound, so I shut up right away. I hear a man’s voice with the pounding this time, but I can’t understand what he’s saying, what with the ringing in my ears. I hope whoever it is doesn’t try to save me. What a mess that would be! I always was kind of vain, although I’m not sure why now, but a stitched up Frankenstein? No thanks! My right eye drifts back to the clock. Damn! I’ve been lying here for twenty minutes. Who would have guessed that dying takes so frickin’ long? There’s a huge crash at the front door, and I hear feet pounding in my direction, but I don’t care. I feel so relaxed. I wonder what my smile looks like. God, I haven’t smiled in years. It feels kinda nice. There’s someone over me, I think. I giggle because their voice sounds like Charlie Brown’s parent: wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah. Hee hee. That’s a riot. Charlie Brown is so stupid. He should have just kicked Lucy in the head and taken the ball. Ohhhh, I want to sleep. It’s warm. This stupid dude fussing over me is making it hard to go to sleep. I’m done, Mom. Go away, dude. I’m gone, Rebecca. Forget about me.