The Deadly Debate

I keep telling myself, “Please, don’t do it,” but I find my voice falling on deaf ears. What’s so bad about suicide? People kill themselves every day, so why shouldn’t I?

I have a happy life. A home, a lovely wife, two children, and financially well off. It’s the American dream come true. Why shouldn’t I be living it?

Who am I trying to kid? I may have all that, but what does it really matter? That’s all the American Dream is. A dream. What’s real is I’m not happy and I haven’t been for several years. My thoughts about suicide aren’t spontaneous or even a secret. On occasion, I would tell my wife I had these thoughts, and every time I brought it up, she would get upset and say I should stop thinking about suicide and didn’t want to hear me talk about them again. It tears me up when I recall the distraught look on her face, and I vowed never to bring it up again. Though I never talked about suicide again, thinking about it is another matter.

It may be true, but I shouldn’t give up on life so easily. When I look at the whole picture, things look hopeless. Perhaps I should break it down, one week at a time, and if that’s too long then just one day at a time. Yes, sometimes life sucks, but I must use those moments as a compass to guide me where I’m going in life. And I shouldn’t forget the happy moments I experienced. Graduation, the day I met the love of my life, the birth of my two sons. Think about it. If I end it now, I’ll never have another happy moment to cherish.

 And why do I deserve to have any happy moments? What have I truly accomplished in my life to deserve those? If I end my life now, who is going to remember me? My wife and sons will mourn for a spell, but then they’ll move on in their lives. I will become a distant memory to the boys, and eventually, my wife will remarry and begin a new life. Any items she has that remind her of me will be put in a box and stored in the attic or donated to charity. In the end, this will be all I deserve. Happy memories not included.

Strange, I should joke about dying. Perhaps I’m not sure about offing myself. Why else would I hesitate? I parked on the top floor of the parking garage knowing I wasn’t going to drive back down. But now, should I? I can drive back home, and no one would be the wiser as to what I had planned. I may not deserve happy moments, but that doesn’t mean they can’t come into my life. All I must do is step back in the car, drive back home, and forget this ever happened.

But I can’t lie to myself. There’s no way I could ever forget it. It’ll always be in the back of my mind, haunting me, eroding my sanity until I find myself back here ready to jump again. Why should I endure that suffering when I can end it now? It will be simple. There’s no security camera, or barriers to stop me. All I must do is walk to the edge of the parking lot wall and hop over it.

If it’s so simple, why haven’t I done it? Why am I just standing here, or better yet, what am I afraid of? Am I afraid after I die my mind will turn off and my thoughts will fade into oblivion? What if there is an afterlife? Christians believe people who commit suicide go to Hell. Is that what I really want? Wouldn’t eternal suffering be worse than what I’m feeling now? It’s not too late. I can avoid risking oblivion or damnation if I just walk away.

Who am I trying to kid? There’s no Heaven or Hell and if there’s a God, why is there so much suffering in the world, and why should I be a part of it? If I accept there’s no place in this world for me and if I want to be at peace, then I must cut all ties with it. If I was a praying man, and if God exists, then the answer to my prayers have been answered and it lies beyond that wall.

I keep talking about answers and peace, but what I’m really doing is running away from the truth. Instead of dealing with the problems of everyday life, I wallow in self-pity and mourn over the suffering I endure. Instead of acting like a child, I must act like a man and boldly face the difficulties in my life.

Well, if I want to be brave, I’m going to walk over to the end of the parking garage and boldly look below. No harm in that, is there?

It’s only six stories down, but it seems endless, and yet so final. I know once I jump over the edge, there’s no turning back. Three seconds is all it will take and in that time three questions will be answered. Will it hurt? How long will it take to die? Is there an afterlife? The answers to these questions have eluded mankind throughout the ages, and I’m not sure I want to know the answers to them now.

Touching the metal handrail is like touching ice. I can feel my hand freezing as I encircle my fingers around it. And if I listen carefully, I can hear it whispering to me, challenging me to test its strength.

“Do it,” it calls out. “I dare you. Cast all your weight on my rails and throw yourself over its edge. You know in your heart you want to. You’ve said so yourself. Nothing matters.”

For so many years, I have been haunted by those two words, and now they return to taunt me. Sadly, it’s the truth. Nothing mattered to be and hasn’t for a long time, and a person can only endure so much of a meaningless life before he breaks. For me, that point had come and gone. So long have I suffered, and now I’m asking myself, why am I hesitating?

There was no answer. No excuse. The time had come to end it all. I lifted myself up and found the rail was strong as it said it was, but as soon as I started to lean over it, my phone rang, breaking my trance.

A familiar voice rang out, “Honey, Jack was in a car accident. He’s okay, but he’s been taken to the emergency room. Go quickly. I’m on my way there now.”

I hung up the phone and stared out to the horizon. It’s a beautiful day, I thought. I should go to the hospital, but I know I won’t. After all, nothing matters.

I thrusted myself over the ledge and seconds later, the sun’s rays turned to a lighter shade of grey, darkened, then nothingness.