Personal Stories

My Story

Hey, there. I’m a storyteller, and I’ve got a story to tell you. Before we begin, I want you to understand something – this story is for adults. If you’re not an adult, you might just become one by the end of this story. Speaking of the end, I don’t really know how it ends. There’s definitely an ending. But, is it going to be happy? Is it going to be sad? Is it going to be an action packed climax, or a cliffhanger teasing a sequel? I’ve stayed up nights asking myself these questions. I still don’t have an answer, and that’s the best part about this story.

One of the easiest things for a storyteller has got to be telling a story someone else wrote or lived. All I have to do is tell you the story. I don’t have to relive, reminisce, remember, resent, or repent. I could even make things up in the middle, just for funsies. But, this story isn’t like that. This is my story. It’s one of my favorite stories, because I know how it all began. I know what happens right after the beginning. The characters in this story are real people with real lives. The best thing about this story for me, though, is it never ends. Now, I know I said there’s a definite end, but stay with me a little longer and you’ll know what I’m talking about. This story never ends for me, because it never feels like I’m close to the end. You know, I once tried to end this story. I thought I was done with this story – it was great while it lasted, and it was an adventure, but there was another story that seemed more interesting and maybe I should move on. I wasn’t mature enough to know the difference between the end of a chapter, and the end of the story itself.

That new story I thought was way more interesting, wasn’t that great by the time it ended. This time, someone else ended the story for me. It wasn’t the end of a chapter. The story hadn’t ended, either. But, you know how sometimes you’re reading a story and you lose interest and shut the book and leave it on a shelf you’ll probably never return to? That’s what happened. As time went by, I remembered the last story. I returned to it – not because I didn’t have a story to tell or because my new story didn’t end well. I returned because I knew there was more. I realized I didn’t consume the story, the story consumed me. I felt like this was the story I would never stop telling. The more I read this story, the more I learnt about myself. The more I told this story, the more I realized how nobody would ever say, “Oh, yeah! This reminds me of that other story!” No. This is my story. If you want to be part of this, you need to know that I won’t stop when you want. I will only stop when I want to, and that might not be any time soon.

I know I haven’t told you anything yet. Do you feel conned? This isn’t even the beginning and you’re already feeling entitled? Then, you’re exactly the kind of person for this type of story. This isn’t a story for the ages. It’s the story of an age. An age I wish I could go back to.

You know what, I think I’ll make you wait some more before I start. But, here’s a teaser: This story has drama, tragedy, comedy, romance, action, and lots more. Most of all, it has a life of its own.

Advertisements
Standard
Offensive Personal Opinions

A Constructive Guide to Suicide

I’ve lost my job. I’ve lost my relationship. I don’t have much left in life. So, I think it’s a good idea to end my life. I’d say I want to kill myself, but that sounds unnecessarily violent. Am I depressed? Maybe, I don’t know. I don’t want to spend good money on consulting a therapist, either. Do I have a sad life? Not really. I have been happier, for sure. I used to have someone to share my happiness with. I used to have someone to depend on, to be happy (because I couldn’t be happy on my own). It’s all gone now. It’s amazing how you can make all these promises in the heat of the moment, and suddenly wake up one day to find yourself alone and miserable. Given the choice between self-preservation and keeping a promise, some people choose self-preservation. And, there’s nothing wrong with that.

I’m just a little bored of life. I don’t feel optimistic about the possibility of fun, happiness, peace, or love in the near future. That’s how relationships work. When you hit a saturation point, and decide there’s nothing interesting or stimulating about it, you break it off. I’ve essentially decided to dump myself.

What about friends? Yes, I do have some friends. Some people who give a fuck about me; who will shed a tear if I die. Fuckers will probably laugh about it, but that’s what I’d do too. I will be fondly remembered. I know that much. Have I told anyone about wanting to kill myself? Not on my life. Either they’ll try to talk me out of it, or make fun of me and call me a pussy. Neither of those will encourage me and give me the motivation I need to off myself.

It might sound absurd, but suicide requires a lot of motivation. It’s not an easy task. In fact, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever wanted to do in life. Because, you know, after that there will be no life (hopefully). Unfortunately, suicide isn’t something someone can force you to do. If someone told me things like “Why don’t you go die? I don’t care. Go kill yourself. You’re a worthless piece of shit who doesn’t deserve to live” I would get pissed off and show them how I will not die, I am not worthless, and I will not let someone else decide the value of my life. So, the only person who can motivate me, persuade me, and convince me about ending my life is me. And, I’m feeling a little lazy right now, so I don’t really want to do all of that.

I’m not a masochist. I do not enjoy pain. And, most methods of suicide involve self-inflicted pain. When life is being a pain the in ass, suicide shouldn’t be sodomy. I’m sitting with my legs on a table that has two kitchen knives just lying around. Kitchen knives aren’t great for stabbing. I can cut my jugular, or slit a wrist or two. But, that will cause pain. IF I can’t handle stubbing my toe against the chair, I definitely can’t handle slicing my nerves. I would be all nervous, and probably end up hurting myself. Suicide isn’t about hurting yourself. It’s about killing yourself.

There’s also the part about making a mess. A good clean suicide is a myth. Maybe not if I take sleeping pills. But, I’m bad at math, so if I miscalculate, I might just end up taking a really long nap. Naps aren’t bad, don’t get me wrong. But, if I was getting enough sleep, half my problems wouldn’t exist. I can’t sleep with myself. No wonder nobody wants to sleep with me.

I’m also a really nice person. I don’t want to burden others with the responsibility of my last rites. It costs a lot of money, too. If I can’t afford a therapist, I definitely can’t afford a cremation; especially my own. So, what’s the best method of suicide that doesn’t involve violence, sharp objects, prescription pills, accomplices, fans, ropes, vehicles, tall buildings, or pain?

Life. Living life is the best suicide. Every day that passes, is one less day to live. Why fuck with the natural countdown? There is only death at the end of life. There is no chance of survival. This way, nobody knows I killed myself. I will take this secret to my grave. The decisions I took, the people I pursued, the hobbies and vices I chose – at least one of them (if not all) will kill me one day.

It doesn’t make me happy. This means more people will leave me. I will lose money, respect, love, and a whole lot of other stuff. But, I will also gain some. What goes around comes around. When I lose my life, I’ll know for a fact that I have nothing more to lose or gain. I did not choose this life. It was given to me by someone else. So, I will let someone or something else take it away from me. I’m going to be lazy about suicide. You should try it sometime. You might like it. If you don’t, you’ll get used to it.

Standard