Hooray for found money, FCM!
Nice beaver, bobbio, how’s it taste? :eek:
Haze, I’m gonna fix it for ya–I was so self destructive that I once successfully killed myself. No lie, I was clinically D-E-D dead when they pulled me out of my car. I had gone to the most out of the way spot ON THE PLANET, a place where I’d had crazy car sex a whole buncha times for hours at a time and nobody had EVER been there, but just this once, just this time, somebody drove in, figured out that the dryer vent hose going into the back window was probably not a good sign and called the cops. I’m here to tell you–death is boring. No bright light, no kindly presences, nothin’. It’s just black and that’s that and if you’re really lucky you wake up on a gurney with puke plastered in your hair. Highly unattractive, and they don’t let you wash your hair when they put you in the nut ward on a mental hold. The food there sucks as well, they treat you like a retarded two year old and it’s hell on wheels trying to convince them you’re okay to get back out. Then if you’re REALLY lucky, you get to go pay a shitload of money you don’t have to get your only car out of impound and drive it home, still reeking of the booze you used to get your courage up to do it, your multi-page self pitying suicide note still on the dashboard in your very best crappy drunken handwriting, and the dryer vent hose helpfully coiled up in the back seat like a snake.
Now, I did that because I had lost everything. I mean it, my family, my SO, everything and everyone had abandoned me in a truly horrifying manner and I was so bereft I felt I had NO option. It seemed like a good idea at the time. However, if I had succeeded I would never have moved to Oregon, a place I love so much I can’t begin to tell you, I would never have met my grandchildren, it’s likely that my son would have followed me since he almost did anyway about six months later when the trouble that precipitated my crisis was still winding on, and it’s likely that Himself might have died in a hail of bullets after flipping out and avenging my death.
Trust me, I know how you feel I really and truly do. My dark secret is that I STILL want to do it sometimes and out of the blue I’ll get that crystalline clarity that says “do it, do it now, you know it’s the only choice and you WANT TO.” But I just keep turning a deaf ear and refusing to listen to that siren call because it’s just the lure of the easy. It’s easy to be dead, but boring and pointless and ugly. It’s hard to be alive, but it’s interesting and quirky and unexpected and fun. And horrible too, but that’s just right this second–in a minute, everything can change, unless you’re dead. Dead is when nothing changes, and if you die when you’re feeling horrible, that don’t change either. Think about THAT next time you feel the darkness sneaking up–feeling JUST like that forever.
Besides, as a pretty smart friend told me a long time ago, “you don’t want to be dead, you just want everything to be different.” He was absolutely right, and death ends any chance of anything changing, ever. Plus it fucks up your friends and loved ones and that’s just mean. So there you go, kid–I don’t tell this story too often because it doesn’t make me look too good but it seemed appropriate here. Cheer up, kid, nothing’s ever as bad as we think it is, and really, compared to being dead being a slut is nuthin’! 
