When people commit suicide the attitudes are always the same. Some people feel pity for the person who ended his life. They say that he must have been in a bad way. Those close to the person blame themselves. "Surely we could have done something to stop him". Then there's the general sadness of those who miss the departed person.
Let me tell you that I don't want anyone to talk about me like that when and if I kill myself. I've only recently begun to consider suicide. For a long time I thought suicide to be an inferior form of death, but I've come to the conclusion that the ideal deaths that I dream about are nothing more than fantasy. Suicide is a simpler and more practical option.
If you hear of my death by suicide, please don't be sad for me. Rejoice! Be happy that I've found the death that I chose for myself. It means that I've found release from this ugly world I've had to live in for so long. If you hear that I attempted suicide and failed, you should mourn for me. It means that I'll be surrounded by doctors and nurses calling me crazy, none of them having the slightest idea of what motivated me.
I attempted suicide when I was 18. The main reason, which I never admitted to anyone until years later, was my inability to deal with the changes in my mother. I had always been close to her, I had always confided my most intimate secrets in her, but she had developed an alcohol problem. She got drunk every night, and she turned me away when I wanted to talk to her. This was awful. I had never felt so alone. I took a train to another city, I went up a hill, I swallowed a packet of rat poison and went to sleep, hoping I would never wake up. But I did wake up, not feeling anything except for a bad taste in my mouth. I went back home, and I didn't start to get ill until late in the evening. I was sent to A&E first for a stomach pump, then delivered into a mental hospital, where I stayed two months.
The worst thing about the hospital was the condescending attitude of the doctors. I heard them say again and again that it wasn't a real suicide attempt, it was just a cry for help. That insulted me. Didn't they see that I was trying to avoid help by travelling far away from home and going to a place where nobody was nearby? My only mistake was the bad planning. I thought rat poison would take effect immediately.
It's been a long time since then. I've occasionally thought about suicide, but I've never made any specific plans. Usually it was at times when I was feeling depressed. Now that I'm considering it more seriously, I know that it mustn't be a rash decision. I have some important things to tie up before I go. It might not be until next year. This will give me time to plan. I've learnt from my experience when I was 18. I don't want to fail again.
I have already decided on the inscription I want on my gravestone. Yes, I want to be buried. I'm against cremation for environmental reasons. The inscription will be an affirmation of victory:
I have lived.
I have died.
I shall live forever.
My ex-wife has promised that she will arrange for this inscription on my gravestone. To avoid any misunderstandings I'll also specify it in my Will. I hope that anyone who sees my grave won't shed tears. I want them to be happy and laugh. Maybe my best friends could even visit my grave every year on the anniversary of my death to drink and have a party in my remembrance, but it would be too conceited of me to expect that. The best I can do is hope that I won't be forgotten.