August 25, 2008, the day I committed suicide


I didn’t mean to kill myself, it was more like awakening from slow starvation to find I’m a ghost.

Something this morning triggered it. I was starting another day at the hated job. Defying random odds, 4 out of 4 of the cutest/hottest women were in the break room at the same time and I realized, as if I’d been shot, I’d made zero progress and was not interesting to any of them, wouldn’t have fucking mattered if I’d set myself on fire.

I figured I’d done all I could do with each of them, including showing sincere interest. We’d certainly accrued enough shared hours in Hell together. I’d even “been myself” around them. Maybe that did me in. Probably.

The proximity of the women was just the trigger. The explosion and death came from knowing that if I had 2 years or 10,000 more I’d be no closer to my definition of victory than yesterday.

So I died by the hand of my own dreams. I’d committed suicide, with nothing left to do but kill the body at leisure, everything else gone, used up, robbed, seized, stolen. Barring necrophilia I’ve had my last kiss and certainly last lay.

My death was the opposite of a pebble rippling the skin of a still lake; it was a boulder hurled down from the the sky only to slip underwater without a splash.

I wish I could tell you death is the end, but in the afterlife everything looks exactly the same, everyone acts the same as before and my greatest fear is here: there’s still a long list of shit that has to be done.

Yet part of me is excited about having ended it All. Everything stayed the same, yet changed, in very subtle ways. I have the rest of my death to see them, find them, catch them.

One Response to “August 25, 2008, the day I committed suicide”

  1. Digital Howie Says:

    Man, face it, women want men who’re “dangerous”, have money, can buy them nice things, have a fancy new car, etc. All they want is an ATM ma(n)chine. American women are the worst assholes, most spoiled, most privileged class on earth. FUCK’EM, RIGHT IN THE NECK.

    Motel Todd says, “I recommend you shave your scrotum.”

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