It was raining hard. Everything was pitchdark. I didn’t know where I came from nor where I was going. I walked and ran and tripped until my legs felt wobbly. I wasn’t sure if it was just a dream. I didn’t care. I wondered if this was my way of escaping and running away. From what?
I felt so cold and tired. But still, I wanted to go as far as possible, to anywhere my feet could take me. It was an eternity before I felt the world closing in on me.
I woke up in the infirmary. Angelo was sleeping, holding my hand. I couldn’t feel my body. It was as if I was floating. I was weightless. Was I dreaming again? Was I still alive? I just wanted to die.
It was one of those occasional breakdowns. Sometimes, I get fed up with all the stupidity and ridicule of life that I want to throw myself down a cliff, if there’s a cliff to be found. I think of all the wrong things I did, all those failures I made, all those problems and heartaches and pain. Then I said, if I were to kill myself, it wouldn’t be suicide. It would be euthanasia.
Sometimes, I get bored with the routine. Everyday is just the same fucked up shit. There’s nowhere else to go, no one good enough to be with. I get fooled and hurt by people I love. I get stalked by strangers. I convince myself that everyone’s going through some crap like me. But I’m not like them. I don’t give a fake smile. I don’t give a half-assed laugh. I’m obsessed with my burdens that I could no longer think of anything good about my life. I’m pathetic.
Sometimes, I just want to do something new. Like slash my wrist or jump off the fourth floor of our building or lie in the middle of the highway to get run over by a truck driven by a sleepy driver. It’s the excitement that ticks me to do it, the euphoria just before the crash, the blinding light just before I’m gone. To nothingness. To oblivion.
But death gives me a lot of questions. Would I get to see people crying over me? Where would I be? Is there such a thing as an afterlife? Heaven and hell? Would I return as a ghost and haunt those who hurt me so badly? Would I see the souls of the departed? That’s my dilemma. I want to die and yet I’m afraid of the unknown. I’m afraid of not knowing what happens after.
Yet, occasionally, I still have those moments of insanity. I still do it when I’m out of reasons to live. I still try to get to the other side, wherever that is. I sometimes lose my strength to hold on and loosen my grip on reality. Like now.
How does it feel to die? If only I could do it over and over again…