On a Thursday Night

How I wish I could die! I do not think I can, unfortunately. I did once before, though I am still here, I still think, I still am.

It happened on a cold thursday evening. I had finished spending most of my meagre savings on a meal at some classy restaurant, of course, I also had the proper attire. I wanted that night to be somewhat enjoyable, and blending in with that particular crowd made me feel as though in a play, a great act in which we all play a part.

Continuing with that set of mind I began the walk to my final destination - a hotel room. Finally did it feel as though I would abandon the charade. That night a stick would be thrown in the cogs of the carefully constructed script of society. This joy lasted only for a few moments more. I'm not the first person to ever do this, the people I saw that day won't even know what happened. My death would be just another tragedy in the already glum everyday life of my family and others.

However, this did not dissuade me. I was resolute. After all those years of waiting for a miracle, I would take fate into my own hands and finally end the wait. Only that night I had felt human, never before did I have such a strong will, such focus, such a clear goal.

I Walked up to my room on the fourteenth floor, locked the doors and prepared my notes. One was for the hotel staff, which will find me in the morning.

Do not look inside

I commited suicide

Thank you

I put it on the floor in front of the bathroom door. The second was a note from half a year ago, addressed to my friends and some of my family, It was a worthless piece of literature explaining my feelings and thoughts. I re-read it for what seemed the hundredth time, confirming that my thoughts indeed had not changed and this suicide was not a spur of the moment decision due to some shock or sudden sadness.

The third note was more generic, something what most would expect a suicide note to be like. There was complaining, apologizing, the literary equivalent of sobbing. This note was supposed to evoke pure pity of the poor creature who wrote it, it would make the suicide seem like the product of a sudden mental breakdown. This note would be for my mother and some other people who I assumed would never understand my reasons. I wanted to give them something they would be able to understand.

I changed into more comfortable clothes, and left my suit on the bed, I liked that suit, I wanted to be buried in it. Both notes, my passport, and a scrap of paper with my parents' contact information I left next to the sink. The time had come, I lied down in the bathtub full of hot water. I hadn't had a bath in years. I wanted the ultimate peace. Tired from feeling emotions, I slit my wrists and began my descent into the river styx.

I think I actually did arrive in hell, or somewhere around that region. That happened a week ago, or maybe hours ago.

Right now, I am in a void. I've lost all of my senses. My feet are below me, I think. My arms might as well be couple of kilometers away. And the fact that I don't feel my bladder weirds me out.