Staring Into The Void

June 2, 2010

At the end of the work day, I quietly closed and locked my office door.  I didn't want any of my colleagues to know what I was about to do.

I had already made all of the necessary preparations.  A few days ago, I put together a drawing of my interior office with all of the dimensions of the room and all of the furniture within.  The width, height, and depth of each item inside was meticulously scribbled on the drawing.  I'd already considered the various combinations of furniture that would, when laid end to end, equal the length of the office.  I couldn't get the length to add up exactly, so I bought a few hydraulic jacks to make up the difference.  With those jacks, I had enough length to line furniture from the back wall to the door, blocking entry to all but the most determined to enter.  This would be important in a few days, I thought to myself, when the main event would begin.

Of course, I hadn't forgotten about my own comfort.  I had bought a set of sheets, a blanket to lay on, and a nice fluffy pillow to rest my head on while waiting for things to get started.  A pack of bottled water sat on one of my bookshelves, ready to last me for the few days I would need it.  Snacks of all kinds were already stored away in the mini-fridge or on another shelf.  Answering nature's demands would be a tricky problem; the best I could think of was odor-proof trash bags.  I managed to smuggle in my laptop, complete with my collection of music, movies, and games to keep my mind distracted.  And, just in case, I also brought some portable lights just in case some idiot came along and tried to turn out the power on me.  I had everything I would need to survive inside my barricaded office for the few days of solitude I needed.  The irony made me chuckle a bit before a tear reappeared in my eye.

I plopped down into my chair and laid back, still pondering what I was about to do.  With a nervous hand, I opened my desk drawer to gaze upon the star attraction.  Five 8-ounce bottles of Extra Strength Liquid Tylenol stared back at me from inside that drawer.  Just staring at me, in the most condescending manner I'd ever seen from a bottle.  I lifted three of the bottles, popped the tamper-proof seals, and poured the contents into a single larger bottle to make the foul concoction easier to chug.  By the time I'd finished, the large bottle was about 75% full of the red syrupy mixture, the means by which I would be leaving this world.  By my calculations, the total dose within the bottle was about 24000mg.  Based on my research, about 15000mg would be enough for a lethal dose; anything above that was merely insurance that this would work.

My mind zoomed ahead, playing out the entire process for the fourth time today.  A death by Tylenol overdose is a slow one, and symptoms don't typically appear until the third day.  Thus, I reasoned that I would be able to take the lethal dose on a Wednesday afternoon, live relatively normally for two days waiting for it to kick in, then lock myself inside my office after work on Friday.  This would give me an entire weekend without disruption by bosses or custodial staff until the serious effects could finish me off.  Liver failure is the primary mechanism of death, which is excruciatingly painful.  But I figured that's what I deserved.  I would simply writhe in sheer agony alone inside my office, no different from any other time that I could remember, except that the pain would be physical rather than mental or emotional.  Eventually, all of the pain would fade in unison as I surrendered to the darkness, to whatever fate awaited me after life is done.

Tears began flowing from my eyes as I lifted the mouth of the bottle to my lips.  I hesitated for a moment at the point of no return, my survival instinct clashing with my beaten and bruised consciousness.  I didn't think it would be so difficult to simply drink something; after all, they all say that suicide is the easy way out.  It was so unbearably hard, however, to find the courage to just tilt the bottle up a bit.  I sat there for a few minutes, the bottle opening simply resting on my lower lip.

"Have courage, my child," I heard a booming voice echo inside my head. 

That wasn't one of my own thoughts that time.  It was almost as if someone were shouting the words into my ear.  Regardless of where the voice came from, I couldn't figure out whether it was trying to stop me or encourage me to continue, so I let my own courage decide.  The bottle tilted up, and the viscous liquid began its slow flow into my mouth.  The liquid was so foul-tasting that I could hardly swallow it down.  The process only got worse with each disgusting mouthful, and by the time I had drunk half of the Tylenol, I was gagging.  I kept going as long as I could, but I just could not get the last four ounces down.  With 20000mg of Tylenol now inside my stomach, I put the bottle down on my desk.  Surely that would be enough, and if it wasn't I still had two more small bottles I could use later on to finish the job.

With the hard part now over, I packed my briefcase and headed out for the day.  I would have plenty of time to think about everything during my commute home.  Plenty of time to think about the past, how all of this started and culminated into suicide.  Plenty of time to think about the present, how the plan would unfold over the next few days.  And plenty of time to think about the future, how everyone would be so much better off once they were finally rid of me.

To be continued...