It's kind of counterproductive sometimes, those Facebook posts about suicide. That very constant reminder is the same thing that opens the avenue. That provides the very paradigm that exit is possible. It is virtually impossible to mitigate suicidal thoughts, and it's just stupid to think that by saying don't do it, things will stop.
The fact is this.
It will never stop.
"It's just another night in the room. Adele is playing through the partially retarded speakers that's been really annoying, constantly acting up. Lying on the bed, looking up to the ceiling. The fluorescent light blinds parts of vision as thoughts of what could be done passed by.
Nothing, nothing could be done. A deadlock has arrived. Just like how the American jury functions, no one can come to an agreement. Not you, Brain. Not you, Guts. Neither you, Emotions. Staring up at the ceiling crease, life looks a lot like that. Narrow, cramped, covered with shadows from the fluorescent light. Where does the shadow end?
Or more importantly, why are some shadows bigger than others? All these creases are the same, but the size of the shadows vary. Pity that shortest shadow, pray it finds a way to be longer one day. Even worse, that crease which is halved by the wall. It's still a crease, isn't it? That's odd, there should be a shadow by laws of science.
BUT, it doesn't. The light, the creases are all fixed. There are two possible ways to fix this horrible conundrum :
1) Shift that stupid fluorescent light.
But that's also pretty stupid. We can never move the Sun.
2) Get a contractor to knock down the wall and somehow make everything equal.
But nah, that's too expensive. Probably would cause too much noise, neighbours wouldn't like it, would they? Better to stick with different sizes of shadows. PROBABLY isn't that big of a deal, anyway, eh.
...Hah, laughing. How can staring at the ceiling cause such thoughts? But there it is anyway, staring every single night. Bed time, in the morning. Right in the eyes.
And one day, resistance is futile. Jumping won't do any good, too short. But the bed is climbed on anyway, still doesn't work. The ceiling just can't be reached. Frustration wallows in the stomach. It seeps to the Heart, where it hurts the most. Like cancer cells, it spreads. Slowly but surely, it finally reaches the Brain. And soon, all rationale is lost.
The deed is done. Letters don't matter. What did anyone else do about that sad crease? A few options could be taken. But the obvious prevails. A rope is hanged from the ceiling fan, and feet slowly get up. It feels the cold skin of the neck. Hey, maybe the weight would be enough to pull the whole ceiling down!
Trying to reconcile with thyself, good effort though. No, cause this is self interest. The Great Perhaps. Just maybe, a new life with a clean slate of memories will be given. Anything but this shit.
Sure, family, friends suffer as well. But they'll move on. They didn't have the room with the stupid crease. But then, migrating to another room was an option. But abandoning the bed, the wardrobe, the desk?
All at once, the rope tightens, a natural human process has carried out.
A few seconds later, everything blacks out. Man, isn't this peaceful. Isn't this seri..
BAM. It's a dream.
'The fuck was that?"
And you continue. Walking. Existing. But never really living.
