My Suicide

I have died many times in this life, all of which have been by my own hand. I know why I did it. I can distinctively remember what drew me to killing myself. Have you ever just been tired? Have you ever had to find a reason to get out of bed everyday? I have. And the reasons started to become so trivial that it just was not worth it anymore. “Well I have to get out of bed today because I have to do the laundry, or the dishes, or the shopping”.
It was black in my world. I stopped working. I stopped dreaming. I stopped believing. I just stopped. At that particular juncture, it became pointless to even exist. Black is lonely. Black is cold, heartless, and it does not care for me. I was certain no one would notice if I were gone. No one would even care. When that realization comes to life, then there is no reason to live. And there was no reason for me to live. My life did not benefit anyone, and it did not hurt anyone. So why bother. I just wanted to kill the pain.
I began to contemplate how. How would I kill myself? What would be the best way, the way by which I could achieve what I wanted? It became my obsession. I would think about it all day, everyday. It became the reason I got out of bed in the morning. To contemplate how I would die. A drug overdose? Not painful enough. I must inflict pain upon myself of an impossible magnitude in order to kill the pain within. A gunshot wound to the head? Entirely too messy. Someone is going to have to clean up after me, and I would not wish that on any person. Not even my worst enemy, if I had one.
I could drown myself. That would be very difficult to do, if you think about it. I guess I could go out to a lake somewhere, tie a rock to my leg, and jump in. How long would I be conscious of what I was doing before I passed out? Probably not long enough. I need to see what I am doing, and I need to know what I am doing in order to feel as if I have done the job I set out to do. I have to know the experience. I have to own it.
I could set myself on fire. I can see that happening. It actually might be rather comical. But it would cause me to try to find a way to put myself out. I think that is in human nature. If I am on fire, find water. I do not think that will work. It also brings up the messy problem again. That would really suck if I had to clean up after someone that decided to set themselves on fire. And the smell. No I don’t think that is the way to go.
A razor blade. A razor blade could work. I mean, if I did it right I would be conscious enough for a long enough period of time to experience the pain dying and the death of the pain. And if I did it in the shower with it running, then there would be no mess really. Someone would eventually wonder why my shower has been on for a week, and then they would find me. Not that anyone would care. It would ensure that I did not sit here, dead for a month waiting for someone to come and find me. I’ll be dead anyway, so what would I care?
There has to be music, candlelight, and some wine involved. I am going to kill myself, so I should celebrate something, right? The pain is going to stop, and I will not have to wake up everyday knowing that there is only black. Or knowing that there is nothing, so why bother living. There is no point to living really. People just walk around oblivious to everything going on right in front of them because they have a gallon of milk to buy. They obsess about that gallon of milk until they are done with that chore, then they move on and obsess about the next thing. There is no point to living, and I am tire of the black. I am tired of the coldness among people, and the chill within myself.
I went out to the store and bought a brand new pack of shiny razor blades. The man behind the counter told me to be careful with them, because they were sharp and I could cut myself. I smiled at him, and celebrated inside knowing it would all be over soon. I lit the candles in my bathroom, turned on the shower, stripped, and got in. The blades were lying neatly on a towel next to my candle, waiting. Waiting for me to choose the one I would use. Waiting to taste the blood surging through my veins. I lay down in the bottom of the shower. I was sure the water would grow cold eventually, but by then I doubt it would matter much.
I took the package of blades and opened them. One caught the candlelight in a particularly pretty fashion, so I chose that one. I put it to my wrist to test its sharpness. I do not know why I thought I had chosen a dud, but I did. Little spots of blood began to appear when I had made a small cut. Now, it was down to business. I placed the razor against my arm just below where my elbow was, and I drew it down, cutting every vein there was in the process. And if that was not enough to kill me, I repeated the process with the other arm. I placed the razor on the edge of the tub, and I waited. The shower idea worked. There was no gathering of blood in the tub. I was glad to see that. I did not want a mess to be left.
It is funny what you notice when you are about to die. I had never noticed that the faucet in my bathroom leaked. It leaked a lot, and was dripping on the floor. The puddle worked its way back toward the wall. That is probably why I did not notice. I had put music on before I got in the tub, but I did not hear it now. I was sure I had put music on. Where was it? I watched the candle flicker. It was flickering as if it were in slow motion. I could almost see the molecules of air combusting at the tip of the flame. But that cannot be.
I was tired. I was sleepy, but I did not want to give into the sleep because I was enjoying the feeling of nothing. There were no emotions, and there was no pain. There was no pain inside my heart, my soul or my arms. Nothing hurt. This is what heaven must be like. What’s that? Everything is going black. No, I didn’t want to fall asleep, not yet anyway. Soon, but not yet.
I looked down and saw myself lying in the tub. I looked at peace. I looked like I didn’t have a care in the world, and I suppose I did not. I remember thinking I should hit the ceiling eventually, but it never came. I kept ascending, but my body never moved any farther away. It went on for what seemed like hours. I was hoping that death was not spending an eternity looking at myself lying in a tub. That may grow old after the first hundred years or so. But my body never got any farther away. Then, everything faded. It all faded to black.
Black. That wasn’t even the color of what was around me. This was not black. What color was it? I have never seen that color. Where was the light? Where was the tunnel? Isn’t there suppose to be something after dying? Why wasn’t there anything here? I did not like it. I am supposed to see God or the devil, anything. I didn’t smell anything. I didn’t see anything. I could not even hear anything. There was no taste in the air. There was no physical sensation. There was no pain, love, regret, or anything.
What did that mean for me? Where did I go when I died? I should be going somewhere. I did not want this to be what death was. Surely I would go to heaven or hell or maybe even limbo. But there was nothing. It was cold. I remember it being cold. Cold and black. The blackest black I had ever seen. There is no reproducing that color. It sucked everything into it. Nothing lived there. Nothing was good there.
I do not know how long I waited, but it was long enough to fall asleep. I know it was sleep, because everything just stopped for awhile. It was like when I was alive and I could sleep to make the pain stop. That was the feeling I had. There was no pain, and for a time I was not worried about what would come next.
I dreamed. I dreamed about everything I had ever done in my life. There were also things there that I did not remember ever doing. But the person that was being shown to me was not me. I did not look like that. I looked much younger then that. So who was that person? I could not figure it out, but I think it was the “life flashing before my eyes” part of dying. Or maybe it wasn’t, because that was not me.
My dream stopped, and I became aware of the blackness again. I became aware of the nothing. I was waking up.
I smelled shampoo. That was an odd thing to smell at the time. Where did that come from? Do they have shampoo in heaven or hell? At least I would be able to wash my hair wherever I was going. But I could also hear things. Cars going by and music. Where was the music coming from? I recognized the album. It was one that I had owned. I new the song, it was one of my favorites.
I looked down because something pulled me to look down. I saw a blade in my hand, smelled the candle burning. I looked around at my bathroom. How did I get here? I was not supposed to be in my bathroom, I was supposed to be dead, and everything was supposed to stop hurting. I was supposed to be able to stop existing, and to move on to what was next in the grand scheme of the universe. Why was I still in my bathroom?
I put the blade to my skin to test its sharpness. Little spots of blood appeared where I had made a cut. It was sharp enough. I started just below my elbow and drew down to my wrist cutting every vein along the way. And if that was not enough, I repeated the same process to the other arm. I placed the blade on the edge of the tub and waited.
It is funny what you notice when you are dying. My faucet leaks in by bathroom, but the water runs into the wall. That cannot be safe. I am sure there are wires in there, or something that could burn the house down. I put music on, I know I did. Where is the music? I felt tired, and sleepy. I didn’t want to sleep yet, but I could not help myself. The sleep came and took me.
I watched my body in the tub as I ascended toward the ceiling, which I never hit. And then everything faded to black. Its cold in here and nothing is left. There is nothing here. There is no emotion, pain, worry, or feeling. There is no light, and there is no tunnel. There is no God, and there is no devil. Where am I? I do not know.
I dreamed. I saw everything I had ever done, and everything that I could have done. There was someone in my dreams that was not me. She was older than me. Much older than me. All of the things that I had done and all of the things I could have done. I could have been someone of valor, and importance. I could have accomplished a lot in this life. I could have lived this life.
I looked down at a razor blade poised above my arm. For a moment I was lost again. I did not realize where I was or what I was doing. I know that I wanted to test the sharpness of the blade, and started to. Something stopped me. Something that was more powerful than me, and more powerful than the hurt. Something that was beautiful in size, color, shape, and the feeling it put into my heart.
I put the blade down on the edge of the tub, blew out my candle, and got out.
I don’t know how long that went on. I don’t know how many times I made the wrong choice. It feels like I did it for an eternity. I don’t know how many times came before the first. Before I realized what I was doing, and that I had done it before.
I know that it is hard to believe. In fact I cannot even believe it myself. I understand what happened and I understand why it did not happen again. I chose to live, and by that choice I have gone on to do many wonderful things. I do not remember what I saw when I dreamed, but something tells me that I am doing what I was designed to do. I have kids now, and those kids have kids as well. I have not found the cure to cancer or anything, but I have found the cure to hopelessness. I have found the key to living, and there is no blackness here. There is nothing here that I am afraid of. I just had to decide to be, and to let myself be.