The Beauty of Suicide
The train is nearing, you can hear it coming in the distance. The knot is tied, the bucket is in place. The bullet is in the chamber, the safety is off. The cold wind blows, the top floor is all yours.
You are ready for your final ride, ready to go out swinging, ready to air out your brain, ready to dive and splash to pieces, ready for the beauty of suicide. But, before you say you are ready, make sure you aren’t.
By now you must have established how you want to end it. Do you want to take a few with you? Will you go out in silence? Will you gather up a crowd, or are you vanishing all alone? Will it be painful? An adrenaline rush? Or will you be completely numb?
Have you fantasized about the regret people will feel and the pain they’ll finally understand? Have you daydreamed about how terrible those left behind will feel for not having helped you?
During all those days by yourself you must have pictured the aftermath. The 72 virgins, the hanging out with Jesus, the pat on the back by Jahweh, or the nothingness considered likely by atheists. A moment of utter bliss, or maybe you are scared to death of dying.
Know that there shall be no legacy. You will be an empty seat, a dramatic suicide note and a morbid going away party in the shape of a funeral or cremation. Your corpse’s last time to shine (or burn), your apotheosis.
Black dresses and suits, one ignorant bloke in a tracksuit, and a bunch of people you never really knew, pretending to be your best friends. Tears flowing, sniffing sounds, overly loud organ noise and songs that make you want to reincarnate and kill yourself again.
All these hypotheses, all this disturbing matter polluting your brain. There is no need to romanticize nor consider any of it. You know why? Because: You’ll. Be. Dead.
There will be no comfort, no sunshine, no pristine beach, no five star experience. Suicide is the last resort available. First it will hurt and then you will die. The end.
Unless you are about to save the life of countless others/loved ones, there is no beauty in suicide. No greatness, no mystery, no intrigue. No. Merely a heart that stops beating. Food for the worms or a few pounds of ashes.
The next day the sun will rise, the birds will sing and that one thing you had been longing for might present itself. And you’ll be gone. What a waste to never know that the next day might’ve brought what you were in desperate need of.
Your death will not teach anyone anything. It will cause an open wound for your loved ones and create an opportunity for vague acquaintances to gather likes on social media.
Don’t wait until the nanosecond before the train hits. Don’t wait until you’re hanging there, choking as your neck is about to break. Don’t realize the aforementioned as the bullet is about to perforate your skull, or as you are free falling, seconds away from kissing the concrete. Don’t have your epiphany after the eleventh hour. Looking back at the point of no return is pointless.
Maybe you want to go through with it in spite of everything. Stoicism teaches that if it is truly all you want, that when there is not a shred of doubt within you, that it is okay to go. However, that is and must never be you. Realize that you want the current situation to end, not for your life to stop. There are still numerous attempts left in you to escape the misery.
Do yourself a favour: wait one day, and repeat that task daily. Wait until time will do it for you. Let death be the one thing you will perpetually postpone.
Stand up, reach out, speak and try again. Leave the fatal bullet be. It is always worth another shot, my friend.
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Picture: Anete Lusina