Suicide Notes…

In those days of yore, one suicidal person nearly screamed at me: “You have no idea what it’s like to be me!!!”

“Of course I don’t..” was my reply. “Why, do you have any idea what it’s like to be me?”

He frowned hard (no doubt on the verge of punching my face). So I went on for the kill.

“Don’t be so arrogant as to think you’re the most miserable person here on earth. No matter how much you grieve upon yourself, the world doesn’t stop for you.”

And for that, another name was added to my list of fiends.

Shame. Shame. It has always been a besetting sin of mine to get into a lot of people’s minds. When I hit the mark, they hate me for it. Empathy and bluntness are clearly not a good combination. Haha.

Then came my manic-depressive aunt, who messaged me in the middle of the night and announced her plan to kill herself as she was feeling so wretched and miserable. Since she was senseless enough to not let me know it was her who texted me, I went on to say: “Go ahead. Kill yourself and do the world a favor. After all, it’s your loss and no one else’s.” That did the trick, all right. She couldn’t believe her own niece would say something that awful to her rather than burst into sympathetic squeals.

When I later learned from my mother that she was the unknown suicide who texted me a few days ago, I was torn between laughing my head off and feeling a bit guilty. But she deserved it, nevertheless. Would you have me encourage my very own aunt to murder herself? My goodness. Had I been softer, I’d have egged her to brood further (maybe to even pull the trigger – God forbid!). One sharp blow should divert all other thoughts (even of pain) from her head.

Suicide so tempting
Self-riddance so divine
Into the rope I’m hanging
This life’s no longer mine
—moi—

What an impromptu suicide poem. So, why are a lot of people enticed to commit such a moral crime – not to mention the only crime that cannot be convicted? Who knows? Different people have different reasons. Yet, from what I’ve observed, the most common ingredient to potential suicide is the ‘love bug’. Love problems often provoke people to shoot themselves, jump from a building, hang from a rope, drown themselves, or let a truck run them over. I heard news ages ago about a man who shot himself and his children because his live-in partner left them to hook up with a German (oh, not shepherd). Tsk, tsk, tsk. Falling in love is such a taxing business. So love straight, love wisely. ;)

Other reasons for eliminating one’s self are: high on drugs (hallucinations of being a dog and that the owner was merely tying a leash around one’s neck), sheer, crippling loneliness, fear from old age (yeah, my high school seatmate wanted to die around 40 because she hated the thought of getting old and soggy), cultural quirks (like hara-kiri or seppuku and the infamous suicide bombing), mental ailment, too much pressure / expectations from loved ones and – guess what? – extreme poverty. Yeah, it’s like saying, “I’d rather die now, than suffer from hunger for the rest of my life!.” Dramatic. A Visayan girl did exactly that last year. But then, as I always say, to each his / her own schizophrenia.

I could name a lot of movies with suicidal themes. The Virgin Suicides for one and I really wracked my brain to make out the reason behind their self-inflicted deaths. What exactly did they die for? Sheesh. Then there was Dead Poets Society. Smart as the lead character was, he was so weak against his father’s wishes. Who would’ve thought he’d shoot himself naked on a snowy, snowy night? Ah, yes, I remember painter-extraordinaire Vincent Van Gogh, taking his life on a starry, starry night. And as Josh Groban sang for him, “this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.” He did have a beautiful way of exiting this earth. It was more ethical though because I heard he harbored this ‘vampiric illness’ and well, no one would buy his paintings then. Double jeopardy, you might say. Oh, and allow me to add other great suicides in the persons of Ernest Hemingway and Virginia Woolf. Here’s my letter to them: “To Ernie and Virgie, kudos to your works and your works alone.”

You might deem me an advocate of suicide, but in truth I’m callous enough to want to live. I’m just setting up a mental collage to put that self-centered act of violence into perspective. Personally, I’d rather prolong my earthly sojourn. I won’t deprive myself of all the happiness this world can give (if you know what I mean?).

Why live? Well, only those who have read this would truly understand. =)

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