It’s coming soon…
I was suicidal as a teenager and in college, but so much of that early pain was fear of not being able to make it in this world. The thought of self-termination was really just an anxiety relief machanism that I would use; and never really believed I would actually carry out. It eased the pressure to know that at any moment I could stop the ride and get off; that I had some control over the forces acting on me. And to make it more real I had to play the part somewhat, sometimes even draw a little blood with a razor to push back at the anxiety in me; as if it were a person, with the threat of “I’ll do it if you don’t back off”, and it would, just a bit.
But then suddenly I got a job with an above average income, a great apartment, and I excelled at my work. Despite all the worry and doubt, I took off like a natural and conquered all that I thought I never could. I had actually made it in this life, or at least the material part of it, and for a few years things were great because the memory of that success kept me warm. The trouble is, I wasn’t done yet, I still had to build a social life for myself, friends, a girlfriend, a wife, and to that end I have always been pretty unsuccessful. I can put on a mask and act sociable and friendly and funny and can fit in pretty well when I put forth the effort, but no matter who I meet, it never lasts; and until very recently I couldn’t understand why I was such a dismall failure at this part of life.
You see, I have a disorder called “asperger’s syndrome” which is a pervasive developmental disorder on the high-functioning end of the autism spectrum. People with this condition are usually highly intelligent, but are universally inept when it comes to basic social skills. It’s as if I was born with a tradeoff: on the plus side I have a sharp mind which, properly tuned, gives me a special edge in mastering the material side of life. But on the bad side I have a severly impaired ability to understand and thereby connect with other people. I have the same emotions as everyone else, but I just don’t speak the language. The language of human interaction is filled with gesture and body language, facial expression, verbal tone and inflection, and this is so easily understandable to everyone else, but is as hard to learn for me as calculus is to them.
So here’s my conundrum, what is the point of living if you know that you will almost certainly never find someone to love or who could love you back? The vast majority of women prefer confident and sociable men. I can fake those qualities, but I’m tired of having to wear the mask, and I can’t wear it all the time. So sooner or later, every relationship I have is doomed to fail.
This is what’s killing me, I can never be normal. I always had some lingering hope that one day I would somehow snap out of this rut and find my niche, but now that I know I’m impaired, that hope is gone. Ten years have passed since I graduated from college, and my social life hasn’t changed. I talk to people at work, have lunch with them now and then; see a movie with a friend maybe once a month or so; maybe go to happy hour with a couple guys from work every couple months; and that’s it. If there’s a woman out there for me, she’s either married, or is as antisocial as I am which makes it impossible for us to meet.
Last week, my 32nd birthday came, and I decided I couldn’t take it any longer. I put together a will, had it notarized, and appointed my mother as executor. I decided that I would end my life near the ocean, so I got the information for the local police so that she could call them to have my body and car found and removed the very next day. I created a list of bills and obligations that need to be satisfied with instructions on how to do that. I then put all the information together, and fedexed it to her the day before my birthday.
As for the method, it’s taken me years to determine which one is best for me. You see I’m about as educated on methods of suicide as a person can be, and I’ve chosen the only one that meets my requirements.
First and foremost, my death must be foolproof. The clinical definition of death is a completely non-functional brain: i.e. brain damage in the extreme. Everything else in the body is just here to keep the brain going, so any attempt to achieve death is really an attempt to achieve the maximum amount of brain damage. I’m not coming back into what’s left after an “attempt”. This rules out car exhaust and pills, because there’s no way to know the right dose.
Next, once I’ve committed to leaving, I don’t want to suffer any regret or fear, so my second and third requirements are that my death must be quick and as painless as possible. This rules out razor blades because it takes a while for the blood to drain, and it hurts to get the cut deep enough.
Fourth, I will not endanger anyone but me. This rules out reckless things like driving in front of a train or into oncoming traffic, or anything else that could potentially hurt someone.
Fifth, I will not create psychological trauma by exposing anyone to carnage. This rules out jumping off of a building or using a shotgun. My death must be clean, leaving my body more or less intact.
So that really leaves me one option: a pistol, fired at point blank range, right into my chest. Punching a hole through myheart is nearly foolproof, but even if I somehow miss, I can still fire another shot, so that makes it completely foolproof. Once the heart stops or the blood spills out, consciousness will cease in a matter of a few seconds, so it will be quick. It will likely be painful, but I expect shock to lessen that part. I will fire the gun while I’m laying on my back, so the bullet will go no further than than ground underneath me, and my body will simply look like a sleeping man.
I had a few close moments last week but somehow I managed not to go through with it. It wasn’t hope that saved me, but rather a series of minor inconveniences and setbacks that gave me just enough time for my intent to falter. I tried to drive out to the ocean to do it, but it’s an hour trip and after 20 minutes of brooding I lost my resolve and returned home angrily. The next day I drove to a nearby park, parked in the most isolated spot near the trees, pulled the gun out, and pressed it to my chest. Then I heard the sound of a leaf blower kick on behind me, and turned to see a gardner sweeping leaves away. I couldn’t do it around him, so I waited for him to move on, then I pulled the gun back, and then a woman and her dog walked into view in the distance coming my way, and my resolve failed. So I went home, ditched work, and played games all day.
This week my desire has lessened since I’ve already booked a ticket to fly out of state for Christmas, so I figure I’ll wait until after so as not to screw up anyone’s holidays. But I always keep my gun on me, just in case the time comes. It may come again very soon…