get eaten by the worms and weird fishes, smiling.

I pass someone in the hallway and I force my mouth into a somewhat smiley polite shape.  The fraction of the second it took to decide whether or not to smile seemed like an eternity filled with questions. Why should I smile? Why shouldn’t they get a glimpse of the pain inside me? Would they be able to tell I’m just faking it?  Can they see in my swollen, red eyes that three days ago I was blissful and happy and that now I’m dead inside?  That I don’t see a way out of this dark tunnel, and, if I make it to the other side what will be left of me won’t be worth shit?

I walk by someone else and I smile again.  Then I see my boss and he sees me and I smile.  I never smile at him.  I’m getting good at this. I’m on.

Last night I spent a lot of time researching, or rather, trying to research, painless and full proof ways to commit suicide.  I didn’t discover much that was helpful, except that there are more internet idiots than I initially thought. Most of the hits were of blog posts trying to talk you out of it and of posts on Yahoo Answers and other message boards wherein you can find retarded comments that confirm without a doubt that humanity is doomed.  The best advice someone had to offer was to “forget it and suffer like the rest of us.” 

I did find a website where “bitter_engineer” seemed very enthusiastic about sharing the correct way to slash your wrists.  As it turns out, the movies have made it look easy but it’s pretty fucking hard to kill yourself by slashing your veins.  The odds of success are against you.  You’ll survive and end up institutionalized.  The main challenge seems to be cutting the right veins without confusing them with the tendons, which can be very painful and embarrassing.  If you slash a tendon you’ll wind up disabling the hand and will be unable to slash the other wrist, leaving you alive and without the use of your hands while they heal.  My right wrist would not be a problem; the veins are prominent.  The left would definitely take some work.  Problematic.

The consensus is that sleeping pills mixed with alcohol is the best way to go.  I don’t take sleeping pills and the only booze I have in the house is a six pack of Sapporoand four bottles of red wine.  I emailed an alcoholic friend who at one time was obsessed with elevating his BAC to dangerous levels and asked him how much booze would it take to off myself.  He responded that he wasn’t going to tell me and to “on” myself instead.  That was pretty annoying.

It was quite disheartening to find out killing yourself successfully is hard.  So I guess the only option I have is to get a prescription of sleeping pills this week.  It sucks because the longer I postpone the longer I have to think about it and I may change my mind.  But even if I do, it would be good to have the pills just in case I change my mind again.  I change my mind a lot about everything. 

Everybody leaves if they get the chance and when he had his chance he took it.  As for me, for now I’ve decided to live and suffer with the rest of you, try to get through life one minute at a time and try to forget what not being alone felt like.  Today I’m smiling more than ever.

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