Have you ever just felt like it’s time to just go? Like, you’re laying in bed and a little ping goes off in your brain like an event reminder that just says
“Get up, asshole. It’s time to kill yourself!”
Then, almost too perfectly the light from a passing car scampers across your room and glints off of a package of syringes and an aluminum foil packet. Then you get up. Then you start to walk to it, floorboard after creaky, old floorboard. Then, just as you as you’re tightening your tourniquet, another little ping.
“What the fuck are you waiting for, kid?”
Thumping the vein.
“Hurry the hell up.”
The needle pierces your skin.
“A needle into a bug.”
Your body numbs and starts to tingle. Your eyes flutter and roll back. You hit the floor.
Your eyelids peel open. It’s two days later. You didn’t succeed, just induced a pseudo-coma. You’re in the hospital. You’re free to go the morning after next if you agree to do outpatient treatment.
Isn’t it nice?