I’m Going To Kill Myself Today

The life I have lived has been, I guess, so-so. Nothing exciting. No drama. No adventure. Maybe I’ve just gotten to the point of “why does my life really matter any longer.” Seventy-three and really, very little to show for it.

So, today, I am going to end this personal pain I have lived. No longer will I have to contend with all the what if’s and why not’s.

In a way, it is almost funny. I have spoken with others about suicides they were contemplating, explaining they have too much going for themselves to sit around and plan their death. I give them straight answers, or reasons, why they need to live. The funny part is I can find no reason, no justification for wanting to breath through another day.

The extended family I have are spread out. Parent long since gone. I live alone and have for the better part of five years. Five—Long—Years.

I think it’s time I put a lid on this and shut this old body down. Make a little room for the younger crowd to replace my spot in life.

The state will have to bury me as my insurance doesn’t cover suicides and that too, is funny. A death is a death is a death, so why wouldn’t they? Oh well. I have no time to get into that sorted affair.

No, no bullet to the brain. I might chicken out. Not going to hang myself either for the same reason. I intend to go quietly. I plan to die in my car sitting in the garage. Shove a banana in the tailpipe, that way the exhaust system won’t be replaced with fresh air. Leave the windows up. Crank the motor and I figure I’ll be dead in maybe fifteen minutes. Painless.

I often said I wanted to go quietly, you know, while sleeping, but I keep waking up every morning and this is my only solution. Carbon-Monoxide poisoning, plain and simple.

I leave with no regrets. Well, maybe one. My book of poetry never was published as promised. Such are the ways of life and such are the endings in death.