PREFACE

I would've hoped it to be painless.

The dying, of course. I didn't want pain, I just wanted to leave. I thought I would just end. Just STOP. But the way things work, the stupidity of humanity, our incapability to let go, completely. I hate it; I always thought of death in a passive way, I guess it was drilled in that way, by teachers and parents and, well, everyone you ever listened to as a kid, that being most people. The way it's something you don't talk about, and even as a kid, even if you don't know what death is, you don't ever think to ask until it becomes clear they don't want you to know. But it never really bothers you when you're young. It could take years, or no time at all before you want it, because I can guarantee at some point in life you're going to want it so bad. Many never try, I know plenty that coped with it and got better. I never did, maybe you never will.

I had read up on it, guiltily, I didn't think I was serious; I thought it was just a phase and that it would pass soon. Even online, looking through endless pages of terrifying thoughts, I thought I was kidding myself. I looked at some sixty methods before turning off the computer. Admittedly, I was scared. I thought of this as an omen; if I'm scared, then I'm not ready. But I couldn't be sure if I was frightened or excited. In truth, I believe I was confused and upset. I mistook the emotion for dizzying adrenaline, part of this is correct, I won't deny it. I chose the container carefully, I wanted it to be quick but I didn't want to die with a bad taste in my mouth, so it had to be nice enough to swallow in a large quantity (yes, at the moment of my death I was more concerned if it would taste nice) and I didn't want to be awake when it happened. I felt a bit uneasy about this part; I thought I was telling myself I wasn't ready again, but my mind stayed stubbornly steady. I don't know how much time I just stared and stared at the bottles and pots, stared at myself in the mirror, stared out the window. It had just been raining, but the window was already clear of water tracks, the world always seems so peaceful after rain. The birds were picking out worms that had been brought to the surface, their delicate feet hopping along the grass. "Fast food." I thought half-heartedly.

A shelf-full of pills were swept into my hands. I grabbed my heavy winter jacket, the one with the pointless number of pockets (now suddenly seeming ever so useful) and filled each one. I went outside, drove my car to the middle of some field and waited. The rain had started up again. I didn't get out the car. I just cracked open a few of the containers and arranged them on the passenger seat. It must have been an unusual sight, a boy, no more, dressed like an arctic explorer sitting next to a family of bottles in the middle of nowhere, just waiting. I was considering turning back, and telling myself, begging myself not to do it. I battled that it was cowardly and stupid and... But I knew that a suicidal I would have more courage than regular me would ever have. Suicidal I took over, calmly, I would have thought it to be rushed, but it went slowly, they tipped my head back and I downed what they gave me, drinking the pills with ease. I knew I was to have a controlled death. I didn't think a bottle would do it, not of prescription sleeping pills, so I shook back four different brands of painkillers and shuddered down two bottles of cold medicine. I didn't know what to expect, I just knew that it was too late to go back. I lay down and waited some more. I was drowsy, I felt sick and my ears rang. I think I vomited; my throat stung pretty badly and all around me were these awful visions. Maybe I was delirious, or just desperate for something to happen, maybe I was punishing myself for doing this.

All I know is, it wasn't the painless death I had dreamed of.