So, you wanna join the suicide club…

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Not that it’s a horrible idea or anything. Actually, I was once the assistant secretary of the vice president for the Suicide Club. A respectable role that involved greeting new members, taking down names, and get this: making sure they were suicidal enough to join. Ready for the crazy part? This story is completely legitimate. No metaphors, no witty symbolism, just the cold, hard truth. So what do you do in a suicide club? Well, probably not what you think we would do.

Of the 50 people I met who joined, only 1 of them actually ended up committing suicide. I was there at the time. She OD’d on <insert anti-depressant drug I can’t remember here>. Thing is, I didn’t find out she’d done it until I told her a story about my ex-girlfriend Sarah who had hung herself. It was at THAT point that her eyes welled up with tears and she told me she had OD’d about an hour ago, but that she didn’t want to die. I called an ambulance. They were unable to save her. And that was that.

What changed her mind? She’d already jumped through the final hoop, she’d been smiling (and vomiting) up until the point she said she couldn’t go through with it after all. I think it was a certain aspect of Sarah and I’s story. You see, she and I made a pact that as long as the other one was alive, we would never willingly leave the earth before our time was up, because that would just mean less time together in life. On top of that, we promised that if one of us broke that oath, the other one was obligated to kill themselves as well, in the same manner, so as to increase the probability that we would see each other in the after life. I didn’t do it though. Because I realized something as I sat beneath that great big pine tree, watching her limp body sway ever so slightly in the cool evening breeze… she was gone.

I mean, truly gone.

People talk about ghosts and auras and spirits and all these things when people die… there was nothing. No smile. No beauty. I remember laughing at how absurdly empty she was, when before she had been the most lively and beautiful person I had ever met. So now, here I am, half the man I used to be, and no relationship I’ve had thusfar has filled that hole in my being. If it sounds cliche, then good, because she epitomized cliche. She was/is the other half of me, and is forever lost to a void that is completely unknown to me. All the more reason to commit suicide, right? Well hold on… don’t you realize what all of this implies?

Somewhere out there, there is someone counting on you to be around to save them.

That’s it. Don’t believe me? Well, if you stick around long enough, you will. They NEED you. They may not know it yet, and you may not be able to believe it, but you have to. Your death will effect someone at some point, even if it’s down the road, in ways you cannot possibly imagine. And I guarantee that that someone is going to be the person you love/would have loved more than anything else in the world.

So, after all that, you may be wondering what the rest of the 49 people, including myself, did in the suicide club. Mostly, we talked about life over tea and occasionally a board game. And we lived together. Ironic? Not really, in fact, that would be an abhorrent misuse of the word. Funny? Yah, a little bit. But mostly is was just nice. Dandy. Swell. Simple. So if you wanna join, go right ahead… we’re all waiting for you here, with open minds and open arms.

Veils, Shadows, Minds, Hearts…

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You feel it coming before it hits you. Did you know that? Insanity, in the true sense of the word. That feeling of not being “all there,” or separation. It doesn’t wash over you like a tidal wave. It rises, from the feet up, it’s hot at first, but it cools down and freezes over your head. You can’t move, you’re too afraid to move…. “what if I make a mistake? what if I hurt someone?” You can see faces, but you can’t see PEOPLE.

How does one like me explain… there are no words in any language created by man. Only analogies and allegories. You’re walking with your loved one, the sun is warm, but it’s overcast, a pleasant kind of overcast and there’s a light rain that feels good on your cheek. You come to a fork in the road and you go right. Your loved one goes left, ’cause she realizes something that you don’t: there is no right. But off you go anyway, you hear her words, but not her voice, and you think she’s still near to you. The path is treacherous, it rains so hard that it starts to flood, you whistle a familiar tune to calm yourself, even though you didn’t realize there was anything wrong in the first place. But when it finally hits you… when you feel the water rise over your head, when you’re drowning, when you see “him” standing in front of you… you know, him, you, but the you that went left… that’s when reality sets in. That’s when you KNOW that you’re different, that the world you thought you knew is not as tangible as you thought it was. That the “reality” isn’t very “real” at all.

At times like these, I just have to separate myself from everything, watch the universe go round and round through a window. I can’t step outside. It’s dangerous out there… that would be suicide for sure. People may forget me… I may forget them, perhaps… I may forget how to walk and speak and pray and love… but I’ll live.

Survival is a talent forced upon all of us, and one I dearly wish I did not have.