I’ve chosen October 12, 2014.
One hundred and nineteen days, or: a little under four months to live, reconcile myself with the prospect of oblivion, attempt to say goodbyes. I won’t pretend that I’m not afraid of what comes (or, rather, what doesn’t come) after this world, but my desire to die is far stronger than my fear of the unknown.
I’ve even found a peaceful, painless way. There’s no gory aftermath to contend with. I would like to minimize, as realistically as possible, the casualties of an acquaintance’s suicide.
I don’t know about the afterlife, differential calculus, or interstellar space, but I know that this much is true: Some people were born into this world but meant for another.
3 comments
True story..
”Some people were born into this world but meant for another.” <– that
Why October 12? As close as I have been and as many times as I have walked to the spot where I’ll lay down and die, I don’t think I can ever reconcile myself with dying. You get to a point where you say ok, I accept all that I am or am not and I just want to go without anything else being said. But then you go wait a minute, did I just accept life as it is, irrespective of what misery befalls me? It’s a weird place, like sitting in a waiting room before walking through The Door. In a way it kind of affords you a place of repose.