Have you ever thought of dying? I have – in great detail. It was an obsession of mine from a time, and sometimes crops up when a deep depression hits me.
It doesn’t matter if it’s suicide or accident. As long as it’s not so violent they will have trouble recognizing my body afterward. Actually, I would prefer to die in sleep, peacefully, never to wake up again to the noise and sounds of the living.
My will is maybe too much that even in my dream I died several times. It’s like someone is showing me how it feels to die. You can’t move, you can’t scream. You’re body is frozen into immobility but inside you are screaming for help. “I’m dying! Please help!” you cry, but no sound comes out of your lips. Then you get smaller and smaller inside yourself, shrinking inside your body, everything going dark but you can still see the outlines of your room. You are slipping away, fading into oblivion, with the terror of certainty that you are going to die, die, die. You are thinking you are not ready, please-God-give-me-another-chance-please-don’t-let-me-die!
Then you wake up in terror, not relieved enough to find the world a suddenly beautiful and meaningful place, but the same old shit that made you want to die in the first place.
Sometimes there’s another version of dying. This one scared me more, for it seems darker, almost evil in nature. You find yourself awake in the middle of the dream. Instead of shrinking inside, you feel a slam of force, a huge suction of power that draws you in, that no matter how tight you hold onto your bedposts you are led to the unseen source of power. Again you cry for help, but nobody hears for your lips remain immobile, useless. Inside your brain you are terrified – saying forgotten prayers, inventing new ones. You are getting weaker and the sinister whirlpool is getting stronger, and you are second by second drawn in, your hands losing its grip and you let go and you scream and…
You wake up drenched in sweat and search the room for any unusual elements. You remember that in the dream it was invisible, like a treacherous black hole, just waiting for a moment when your guard is down to open it’s mouth and suck you in, suck you right into hell, probably.
Those are my two versions of dying, of death that I’ve experienced already. It’s rather like a test-drive, you feel the whole experience without the end result.
I don’t want to be raped or brutally murdered or hit by a bus. I try to think of any accident that I might want to die of – maybe a stray bullet, a gunshot that wasn’t meant for me but somehow finding its way to my heart or my brain. There, instant death.
Poison comes to mind, but I don’t want to retch and vomit to my last second of dying. It seems awfully prolonged and needlessly painful.
Suicide. Very easy task. I won’t do it with a rope. It would scare anybody to find me swaying, tied from the ceiling, neck strangled by the rope, my tongue lolling and my face a strange purplish hue. I’d be too vain to try this stunt.
So maybe my sleeping pills? How many capsules is there in a bottle - about 60 pills I think. Would that be enough – if not I’ll buy more. I hope it will be instantly effective. I hope they won’t have time to revive me, to force the substance out of my body. I want them to find me dead. Gone. Gone from their reach. Gone from everything that could hurt me.
Just gone.
