Has anyone ever pictured their own funeral? You’ve brough your years upon yours of misery and melancholy to an end in your own design. It’s all over, you’ve drawn your final breath and have finally accomplished what you sought most. Now, you’re laying cold in your very own mahogany box, dressed immaculately with your stiff finger locked across your  forever stilled chest. Who’s there? Who silently weeps as the entrance melody plays? Who numbly places a photo underneath your cold hands and utters a few words? Who trembles under your literal dead weight as they carry you to be elegantly laid to rest? Who throws the first patch of soil onto your grave? Who really cared about you when you were neck deep in your own depression? Who tried their very hardest to confiscate razors and hide all the ropEs? Who found you in a pool of your own blold or suspended from a rope? Who would go home from the cemetery or the crematorium feeling shattered? Who would watch their life and soul be covered in six foot of dirt or turn to ash as you left the world as we know it? Who would? Would everyone? Would anyone?
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I don’t want a funeral. I just want my ashes to be scattered to the sea. No ceremony.
‘I want to walk in the snow, and not leave a footprint.’
Nobody because in my suicide note I insist that I be cremated…..If I did have a funeral though maybe 10-15 people would be there….no friends and distant family members….a few would weep crocodile tears to show they are “sad” but internally they don’t give a shit its just proper funeral etiquette….The ones who do care would be sad for a few months and then move on and forget about me. I don’t care though… I’m not worth being remembered …..I’d actually prefer every memory and trace of me be forgotten and erased.
It’s funny how other people will never understand the pain of knowing that the few people who deem you worthy of memory would never think about you after you’re gone. They don’t get the resignation of suicide. It’s not that I can’t deal with the pain. I don’t want to. Life gets better for days and worse for decades. It isn’t worth it. For me, an empty chapel would see what little legacy I had died with me. That’s what I want. To be another tombstone in a field of many. No one would know me apart from my neighbour, and my epitaph a testament to my failures, right till the bitter end. I won’t go kicking and screaming. I’ll quietly submit. And that’ll be that
I’ve stipulated in my trust that I be cremated and my ashes scattered in the mountains. No services. I’ve already prearranged and paid for my cremation. All I have to do now is die. I hate funerals.
Haven’t thought much about it, and I figure it doesn’t really concern me that much. I’m too busy thinking about all the distractingly shiny objects on the floor.
I want exactly what Hella says.
Hm. Lorax can never escape his inner magpie.