...Why? Is everything really going that bad that suicide honestly appears to be a viable option? And I'm not saying this from an outward perspective, mind you. I've felt it. I've felt it so strongly that I clearly recall three (yes. THREE) seperate attempts at my own life. I'm a depressed mother fucker when you get down to the root of it. Well, I used to be.
Then I came to this realization. Kind of fucked up of a realization, but a valid one nonetheless. A realization in which I'll first pose a question to all of you, being I am damn certain there are folks out there who've had thoughts or attempts at self-inflicted murder: do you really not give a shit?
If you want to die, you have to not give a damn. Not about yourself or anyone that will even be remotely affected/hurt/destroyed by that action. You can't. If you did, wouldn't. Couldn't. And if you seriously don't think anyone will be affected, then you're literally the only person who could to give a shit, and, apparently, you don't.
But here's a thought: get the fuck out. Literally. Leave. Leave wherever the hell you are and go somewhere. There's no one left there to give a fuck about so you're not leaving behind anything important, right? Go to another town. Another state. Another bloody country. No car? No money? Shit, millions before you had less than you do and what did they do? The fucking walked.
"But what will I do," you may ask. ANYTHING. You have seriously achieved what all of us aspire to: a free pass. Hop train cars to the other coast, wander Europe aimlessly and with wreckless abandon, wrestle an aligator or puma, run on-field naked during a professional football game and punch a linebacker in the nose. It doesn't matter. You were just facing a decision that has a 100% death rate. Everything else is cake.
Police? Fuck 'em. Better yet, fuck a whore. Fuck a goat (if you're into that). Strange, genitalia mangling desease? Who gives a shit? To get to this point you obviously, as previously stated, don't give a damn.
Sometimes, I wish folks would gaze over the edge. If they were there, then maybe they'd pull the blade away from themselves and instead slash through the jungle in an Amazonian expedition. Or swim with dolphins in the Indian Ocean (are there dolphins out there?). Or kick it with monks in Tibet until they've stumbled upon inner peace. Or eat the strangest shit restaurants around the world could cook up. Or just sit on a fucking rock along a coast and watch the sun set.
Then maybe when they got back, if they went back, they wouldn't want to end it all... after seeing how beautiful the world is.
After they realized not everything sucks so there's no reason to end it.
After they walk through the proverbial door of whatever shit hurt them and don't look back.
After they find the perfect place to be.
And just... live.
