Chronicle of a suicide foretold a.k.a suicide note
For those of you who are fans of Gabriel Marquez Garcia, you would know where I stole the title from. For those of you who aren't, you would, at least, know that I stole it.
For those of you who happen to be reading this and know who I am (I mean if you don't know who I am, then you shouldn't be worried about me killing myself), please do not be alarmed. I may very well still be alive. Actually, there is a very high probability that I am still alive. On hindsight, the title might have been a tad too sensational. But sensational is good.
Anyway, why would I think I would kill myself? Why would anyone want to commit suicide, for that matters? Usually, it is because something important has been taken away from them and they don't think they can continue living anymore. It is pretty much the same for me. I won't go into the details. What? You want details? Hmm... no. Okay, compromise. Let's just leave it that it's got something to do with a particularly nasty (pronounced with American accent) professor. Nope, I didn't sleep with him (that'd be unimaginable).
How would I die? The easiest would be to jump off a building. But I can't bear the thought of myself crushing and splitting and spilling. That'd be horrendous. Sleeping pills then? Where can I get such a huge quantity of them? I mean it takes 50 to kill a person right? What if I don't die but because I was discovered too late (yet not late enough to kill me) I become a moron from overdose? And that I can't control my bowels or drool all over myself? Can't imagine being such a liability. Slashing wrist? That's so 60's. Stabbing? Too samurai a.k.a Tom Cruise the cranky scientologist. Fake an accident? Then I can't be leaving a suicide note which will defeat the whole purpose. And plus, if I can fake a fatal accident, I would do it on the damned professor. Yea, I am completely consumed by hatred.
Let's see, what other options do we have. Drowning? That'd look like an accident because everyone knows I can't swim. Refer to point above about accidents. Shoot myself? This ain't no America. And plus I still can't get over the spilling part. And did I mention it is just so wrong to involve innocent people? I mean you can shoot the girl who caused you much misery but not the other students who barely know you/know that you exist. So if I have a gun I'll shoot the above-mentioned professor. Ah! I've got a brilliant idea! Since I can't muster enough courage to put a gun to my head/mouth, I'll pretend to shoot other students (without really shooting them) so that when the police arrive, they can shoot me for me. What a genius am I!
Okay this is really getting too morbid. Hope my mum doesn't see this.
And writing about killing myself is so therapeutic that I don't feel like killing myself anymore. Not that I was serioulsy contemplating about killing myself. Alrightie, relax people!
For those of you who happen to be reading this and know who I am (I mean if you don't know who I am, then you shouldn't be worried about me killing myself), please do not be alarmed. I may very well still be alive. Actually, there is a very high probability that I am still alive. On hindsight, the title might have been a tad too sensational. But sensational is good.
Anyway, why would I think I would kill myself? Why would anyone want to commit suicide, for that matters? Usually, it is because something important has been taken away from them and they don't think they can continue living anymore. It is pretty much the same for me. I won't go into the details. What? You want details? Hmm... no. Okay, compromise. Let's just leave it that it's got something to do with a particularly nasty (pronounced with American accent) professor. Nope, I didn't sleep with him (that'd be unimaginable).
How would I die? The easiest would be to jump off a building. But I can't bear the thought of myself crushing and splitting and spilling. That'd be horrendous. Sleeping pills then? Where can I get such a huge quantity of them? I mean it takes 50 to kill a person right? What if I don't die but because I was discovered too late (yet not late enough to kill me) I become a moron from overdose? And that I can't control my bowels or drool all over myself? Can't imagine being such a liability. Slashing wrist? That's so 60's. Stabbing? Too samurai a.k.a Tom Cruise the cranky scientologist. Fake an accident? Then I can't be leaving a suicide note which will defeat the whole purpose. And plus, if I can fake a fatal accident, I would do it on the damned professor. Yea, I am completely consumed by hatred.
Let's see, what other options do we have. Drowning? That'd look like an accident because everyone knows I can't swim. Refer to point above about accidents. Shoot myself? This ain't no America. And plus I still can't get over the spilling part. And did I mention it is just so wrong to involve innocent people? I mean you can shoot the girl who caused you much misery but not the other students who barely know you/know that you exist. So if I have a gun I'll shoot the above-mentioned professor. Ah! I've got a brilliant idea! Since I can't muster enough courage to put a gun to my head/mouth, I'll pretend to shoot other students (without really shooting them) so that when the police arrive, they can shoot me for me. What a genius am I!
Okay this is really getting too morbid. Hope my mum doesn't see this.
And writing about killing myself is so therapeutic that I don't feel like killing myself anymore. Not that I was serioulsy contemplating about killing myself. Alrightie, relax people!
1 Comments:
Good post.
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