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Off My Chest 3 before/after So...its not like I want to die, or anything. Not really, anyway. What? I mean...not really. Things can get better, things look to get better. Things will get better. Are getting better. I have no real desire or impulse to commit suicide at this point in time. But yeah, I was feeling some depression before all this got started. Not really too bad. Not really at all. I would have perked up if things had turned around. And I guess for me, I characterize depression by several diagnostic criteria. Whippin' out the big words. The five dollar motherfuckers. And one of the most telling for me is suicidal impulses, and intruding thoughts of death. Neither particularly bother me, and it certainly didn't compare to the level of magnitude of suicidal impulses and intruding thoughts of death when I was truly depressed in college. Yeah. In college. You remember. Well, getting laid a lot is a wonderful cure. I find it hard to be unhappy when my dick is in a girl's mouth. What the fuck can I say. Anyway, then it was bad. First thoughts in the morning when I woke up, last thoughts when I went to sleep, and pretty much every 3-5 seconds in between then. And that's when I seriously started to self-medicate. Stoned myself right out of thinking. It helped. But then when you look at it, the entire pattern of my behavior also might be defined as a long, slow suicide attempt, in a way. I shouldn't have been driving, getting that fucked up, not knowing where I was, not giving a fuck. Whatever. But this last time around wasn't nearly that bad. I still had the lingering thoughts of suicide. Some of them were mundane. I think, at the time, the first one was a fantasy of driving up Mt. Evans, taking the curves as fast as I can, until I came to this one spot, where co-incidentally there is a burned out car at the bottom, where the drop off is so severe, just a sheer drop, and I would jam it one, stereo cranked, and feel the exhuberation as I flew off the edge, engine roaring as it sails into the air, feeling the weight of the car, and wondering if I would have a last minute thought of doubt, a sinking of the stomach. Maybe it could be played off as bad driving, and no one would really be the wiser. I also wondered if it was possible to survive all that. Probably not, but the car does have air bags, and if I reflexively hit the brakes before the edge, and instead kind of drove down head first...plus being in good physical shape...fuck would I feel stupid. That evolved into a high speed chase on the interstate through town up the side of the mountain. A short-lived fantasy. I doubt the cops care too much if you burn through town at 4:00 am on the interstate. So there was that. Then I had a short lived delusion of finding some hispanic gang-banger on Sante Fe, and paying him to kill me. $1500 bucks and a fool-proof plan. The creshendo was me desperately imploring him to do it. "Look, you have to get away with this. I WANT you to get away with this. Do you know of any chop-shops you could take the car to?" But the reality of that is you could probably walk around down there with 1500 dollars falling out of your pockets and get killed for it, but actually trying to pay someone to kill you would be impossible. The vahtos would think of me as bad luck, insane, and likely a set up, and therefore give me a wide berth. There were the shotgun in the mouth, the vein drains and so on, but none of those really appealed to me. Emergency measures. Then I lit out for home, and my health collapsed. Just about anything would do. I couldn't abide by something stupid, though. The thought of taking pills and drinking massive amounts of alcohol just made me ill. About the worst way, I thought. Like death from the bed-spins. Ugh. The point is to avoid pain. Tried to think of a way that would be much like falling asleep, but I think any such medical measure would invariably have that vomitous moment of bleary incredulity before seizures and such, and that's just unpalatable. If one is going to do it. Might as well do it right. I thought of maybe taking a bunch of the Tylenol PM on a beach in Florida, opening the veins and swimming out to be taken by the sharks. But that sounded painful as all hell, and I find it humiliating to be taken into the food chain. Then I thought of more mundane measures. The jump off a parking garage and such. Lame. Stop-gap measures, if it came down to it. Real desperation that can't wait for a more desirable method. The pain was bad. But I realized, likely if it came down to it, I could forge my way through with willpower alone. So I might as well come up with the best escape route. I thought of jumping or driving off the Macinaw Bridge. That is one high bastard. A lot of people do that, though. No need to be a copy cat. And one I've thought of for a long time. It involves the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore, which are the cliffs mentioned in Longfellow's "Song of Hiawatha". Doubts about that. Not sure how deep the water is. It looks shallow, but clear water is deceptive, and I do know how to dive. Survivng that would be a real pain in the ass. So I don't know. I suppose its evident that I do not wish to die, given that I have found flaws with all the ideas proposed. Anything worth doing is worth doing well.
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