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A Simple Decision's Effect
If I had decided to take a walk a little over three months
on that fateful day, I wouldn't be sitting here to write
this. What a cataclysmic decision. Sometimes, like last
night for instance, I feel extremely guilty for having ever
tried such a thing. I learned the pain others went through
when someone else was doing the very thing which I had
done. I cried, a lot. It is a horrible feeling to not
know if someone you care for is okay.
Other times, however, I wish I had been successful. Life
is so pointless, and nothing I do affects anyone, anyway, I
rationalize. It's not difficult to convince myself that I
would be quickly forgotten. I think about different ways
to accomplish that purpose. Drowning and setting myself on
fire always sound best because they prolong the suffering.
It always sounds so beautiful, and sometimes it makes me
wonder if I am destined to follow that path. But I just
can't do that because it would affect three people
profoundly, no matter how much I would try to convince
myself otherwise. I suppose I do have a purpose, even if I
am not allowed to acknowledge it.
In Dante's hell, the suicides become trees, horrible,
branchless petrofied images, reminding them that they cast
away their lives and now they are forever trapped. In
Brett's version of the afterlife, there isn't one, so it
really doesn't fucking matter what you do. I like to try
to believe in an afterlife and in a god, but when it comes
right down to it, the idea of an afterlife is just
ridiculous. We are animals. We die and we are forgotten.