An optimistic story of suicide
CAKE, PILLS AND SUICIDE
Twelve’o clock. Midnight, I arrived at the door of my crapsack apartment on the third-floor of some unnamed building in the city. Work sucks. And to make matters worst, I forgot my key, but it’s not like the lock ever worked anyway. After a few push, the door slammed open, welcoming me “home”. “Home” was dark. I remembered there was a light switch somewhere to the left side of the door. As my dehydrated hand ran blindly across the stained and cracked wet wall, I came to the conclusion that the light switch was on the right – side. Light came on, not that there was much to see. Four gray walls, a floor and a leaky roof, a bed, a wooden table, a chair, a mirror, a generic closet, a small TV and the cramped stink hole that was the toilet.
I can’t cook, which was the reason half of my already pathetic salary went to buying already made food in the nearby supermarket. I was tired. After changing out of my janitor uniform, I put on a pajama, my only to be precise, completed with stitches and stain. My eyes came across the stack of letters beneath the door, and proceed to pick them up and throw them on to the table. Later! It was spaghetti night! I was excited, or at least, I should be excited. I sat down at the table, the cold spaghetti dish in my hand. I ate it. It was tasteless. Throwing the plastic dish in to the trash can, I started reading the letters. Advertisements. More advertisements. The electrical bill. Letter from my boss, telling me to work over time next Friday. Same old everyday bullshit.
My hand ran inside my pocket, pulling out a cigarette. Now there’s one thing in the world that isn’t tasteless. Scratch that! One of two things that isn’t tasteless. Beers certainly helps. Cigarette in mouth, almost-empty lighter in hand, I smoked. I know it wasn’t good for me, giving lung cancer or something, like the guy on TV said. But I still smoke it. Not out of addiction, I’m not a heavy smoker; I only smoke three times a week. But those three lung-killing cigarettes help. It helps me struggle, it push me through this black and gray world, where everyone is a bastard, some more than another. It helps me to go to work every day, 6:00 am till midnight, cleaning in some Chinese restaurant. The cigarette burned the whole way through, snapping me back to reality, this hideous reality. I remembered a long time ago, back when I was an 18 years old graduate, just arrived in America. I remembered, back then, how I was a happy-go-luckier, happily stepping off the bus to New York, full of confidence, full of energies, full of hope. I remembered, back then, the world was beautiful, and everybody was your buddy. I remembered, back then, I had dreams, I had goals. I used to make it my goal, being the CEO of a big company, with money stacked to the roof, live in a penthouse, have a car collection and all the women I want. That dream died as soon as I finished university. It turns out; graduating Law school doesn’t help much. I was naïve. In my head back then, everything was a straight-line: Finnish university, get a decent job, slowly working my way up untills I’m a millionaire; retire at 40 with enough money to live the rest of my life in luxury. Looking back at it now, I smiled. A smile of pity. I pity myself. A knock on the door brought me back. Slowly, I stood up and opened the door.
It was my neighbor, Kate. I helped her with electronics several times before. She brought me a cake, saying: “I baked this cake for a friend today, but he got sick and can’t come today. It would be a waste to throw this away, but I’m on a diet. So I think it would be best to give it to you, also as thanks for all the time you fixed my TV!” I noticed her blonde hair. It looked messy, ugly. “So, Cole, are you doing anything this weekend? You don’t seem to go out that much!” “No, I’m not doing anything” Do I ever? The last time I went out was when I was in high school, which was only to be socially polite. She continued. “So, anyway, I and my friend are having a small party this Friday, and I figured I should invite you” “I would love to” Not really! “But I’ve just realized that I had to work overtime Friday night. I’m sorry but I can’t come” Again, not really! I just wanted her to leave. There is something about her that irritates me. Anyway, I got work to do. With all the strength in the world, I squeezed out a smile and thanked her for the cake. She smiled when I did. Come on, walk away! As soon as she turned away and the door was closed, the cake went into the trash can. I’m allergic to dairy.
I was tired. I wanted to go to bed. I walked toward the bed. I’m planning to commit suicide today. I’m tired, and I wanted to go to sleep. I can’t remember how many suicidal attempts I have had in the past. It was my way out, my salvation from this version of hell. I just want to rest, and then disappear. I want to cease being a burden to everyone else. I lay down on the dirt bed sheet, my hand reaching down my pocket, pulling out a bottle. My sleepy eyes can barely make-out the word “Sleeping Pills”. It was what I needed. A good, long sleep. My eyes shut; I emptied the bottle in to my mouth. The pills were stale. Determination in mind, I swallowed them, and smiled, thinking of my coming rescue. I started to feel the effect. I wasn’t sleepy. You don’t get sleepy when you overdose on “Sleeping Pills”. A sharp pain pierced my stomach. I started shaking and twisting in all humanly possible angles. My vision started blurring. It doesn’t matter. After all this, everything would be better. With my last bit of strength and control I had left over my body, I smiled. My vision goes black. The funny thing is, I’m still here. I’m still fully conscious of everything. It felt funny. I was in a dark space. I tried to move. I know I was moving but I couldn’t feel it. In fact, I couldn’t feel anything. I tried touching my face, only to realize that there were no arms. I tried to bite my lips, only to realize that there was no head. There wasn’t anything. I merely existed in this seemingly endless and empty black world. I guess this is my salvation, wondering around aimlessly in nothingness. It was I needed, at least, it was better than the previous world. I had all the time in the world now! I wanted to smoke a cigarette, just to clear my mind. Damn, it was my last day! Why the hell didn’t I smoke another one! Hell, I should have finished the whole pack! Well, it’s no good regretting it now! I will just have to do without it then. Hmm, I wondered how Kate’s cake tastes like! It sure looks kind of tasty. I should have eaten it! Why does dairy allergy matter anyway if I was going to die! I felt a shake. It wasn’t me shaking. This was an outside shake. I heard a voice. Is it god? The voice got louder, but somehow felt obstructed. It was a woman’s voice. Suddenly I felt myself, this bodiless self, being pulled down, away from the voice. I reached out with my non-existant hand. For the first time in life, I reached out for something. Ironically, at the verge of disappearing, I reached out for someone else.
I opened my eyes. It felt like I had been asleep for a million years or something. Slowly, I turned my head around, looking at all these weird electronic and beeping machines with tube stuck on my arm. I’m in a hospital. Failed suicidal attempt #14. I notice a nurse, and made a sign that I was awake. The nurse turned around and asked me: “Is that woman over there your girlfriend, or was it…” She pointed out the window. I could see Kate’s messy hair from here. What was she doing here? “Ehh.. No. She’s my neighbor” The nurse looks surprised. “Well, in that case, you are a very lucky man, Mr. Cole, and have very good neighbor too. Your neighbor, Mrs. Kate, when to check if you enjoyed the cake she gave you, and got nervous when you didn’t respond. The lock was loose enough for her to peak in, and when she saw you there, she called the ambulance. You could say you owed your life to her! She has been sitting out there waiting since last night!” Funny. I wanted to die; she should be the one who owed me my death. I should be mad at her, but I can’t. For the first time, it felt good being alive. For the first time, someone cared. I smiled at the nurse, glanced at Kate and go back to sleep. I guess her hair isn’t that messy after all.