The thunder roared and the rain poured, the sky was grey and gloomy. My fingers shivered so i rubbed my hands together to create heat from the friction. The bus finally arrived although it was ten minutes late and I was soaked. If I were my normal self I would put up a fight and demand them for refund of my ticket due to the bad service. The thing was I wasn't my normal self. In fact I was suffering. I was so angry, and sad that my thoughts had all gone wild and I did not realize till about an hour later, when I got home that I wanted to commit suicide.
My parents had gone out of town for a few days, so I had the apartment all to myself till they returned. Our apartment was on the third floor of the elevator-less building. I walked up the stairs to my apartment door and searched for the key in my bag. There was no key in sight so I took the spare from under the rug and opened the door. I could not care less for where my key was, probably I had left it in my other pants pocket or bag.
I was tired, I was tired of life, all the bad things. We live around 60 to 80 years, work, work, work, to reproduce, retire, then baby sit our offspring's offspring's. What for? To gather experiences, to live, to find some kind of joy in it all. To go to heaven? You see, as much as I would love to believe in it, heaven never really made much sense to me, neither did hell. I mean it sounded like a place full of your totally boring people singing kumbaya, hand in hand naked in a circle under a willow tree, in front of who ever the so called God is. I mean if atheists like John Lennon, Mark Twain, and Marlon Brando were doomed to be sent to the fiery pits of hell, then who wouldn't want to join them. Anyways I am a firm believer in either nothingness or reincarnation after death. Their two pretty logical theories to me. It's a win win situation after all.
If I were to kill myself and join a world full of nothingness perhaps, then I would feel nothing and there for have lost nothing. For my family and few friends who would mourn me I do apologize, though they would some day join me too, and though in a world of nothingness would realize that nothing is nothing.
As for reincarnation, well our souls are like the spark that turned us on, more like an energy-like medium that is never destroyed, but only converted. We become a grain in the earth until we can enter a new body, a tree, a bug, maybe even the the water that flows down a stream- a true keen observer.
So you could say I was tired of my life, wanting to end it or recreate it. I walked to the kitchen and opened a cabinet full of medication. I thought that would be the cleanest death, and least likely to get others accused. I didn't want to back out of this difficult decision I had made several times and failed to attempt. It was a decision that had boggled my mind for more then half my life. It started out as a quick and very tabu taught when my Grani died. I was eight years old and had never come upon that heartbreaking experience.
My Grani was closer to me than my mother, she had lived with me since the day i was born till i turned six. When I turned six my parents sent me to live with her till they had come out of a series of difficult financial and business issues. These issues were the cause of many problems. Problems that were so significant in my life, though I never realized till years to come.
I took out a case of apolorezepam. Apolorezepam was the anxiety medication my mother would take each time my brother came over for a visit. I took out a bottle of water from the fridge. Although an overdose would be a particularly clean death by no means did I think it would be painless, yet it seemed worth it as though the pain I would feel would never some up to the pain I already felt. I walked over to the computer table in the living room. I opened the case and pour about ten pills out on the table. They were small, white and round. I wondered if the ten would be enough so I spilled out about 7 or 8 more. I saw one pill that had slipped a bit further from the rest, so i put my index finger above it and pulled it back to join the group.
My thoughts started to wonder again. I remembered another time I had gone so close to suicide, about the same distance I had gone this time. I had spilled the pills on a drawer and was crying out so loud, as though I was a baby who'd had her milk taken away from her. I was only 12 at the time. I was alone so alone at the time. I had been more alone then I had ever been. I was crying because I did not want to die, but life was just so hard and I could do nothing. Was I being a spoiled child who was not living in a luxurious house with all the toys or things I'd wanted? No, that was the least of my worries. I had moved to a country very different from my own away from almost everyone I had ever known. In fact the only person i knew was my mother. I was in such distress that I had fallen to the floor and my heart started to race. I could feel the blood going to my head, feet had gone numb and my hands had started to tingle as if they had fallen asleep. It was a panic attack of some sort but I taught of the one thing, the one goal I had at the time, and it was to get back home. It was home I had longed for so badly. It was home I had missed, my brother, my father, my friends, the life I'd known myself to live the whole time. Hope was what withheld me from the deed that day. If hope had not crossed my head that day, id be another statistic, I'd be dead.
The last time I can recall wanting to end my life was during an argument I had with my mother when I was sixteen. It was quite an idiotic act on my side, something that had happened in the heat of the moment. It was a silly argument, I barely remember why it got so big but I had spilled a cup of hot tea on myself and one thing lead to another. I threatened my mother that I would kill myself, and so she said do it. So I grabbed some pills and emptied the whole case in my mouth. In a sudden moment my mother became furious and started to run up to me. Before she could tackle me I spit all the pills out of my mouth and that was that.
These memories brought tears down my eyes. They had broken my already broken heart. They shredded it to pieces. They'd gotten me miserable and I broke down to many more tears. I started shake as picked up the pills. My lips were trembling, my heart was beating really fast as though the pills were doing their magic before I had even used them. It was at that moment I found out I was not alone.
"STOP! Don't do it" a voice yelled behind me.
At that moment I'd jumped so high in my seat not only did I drop all the pills from my hand I had spilled my water too. The fact that my heart did not stop and kill me from the fear was a miracle.