semicolon: 3. Saturday

Slept poorly, as usual.  I spent the day easily and quietly – except for the music lesson, which was quite loud, but did make me feel good for a moment.  I had hot dogs, hung out on the porch, and in the evening, I started the scotch again – it was so good!  Like drinking a peat fire.

After watching countless movies, I was nice and drunk in the low light of the porch.  It was a beautiful night, not cold, not hot. I got the pills, and took a sniff.  Medicinal.  I took out a pull and licked it.  I kept doing that for a bit, it was bitter but not bad at all.  Finally I crunched the pill.  And another one.  And then I just swallowed the other two.  

It was so easy.  No drama, didn’t feel like anything, really.  Another mundane task.  I’m guessing this is why one suicide attempt increases your risk for future attempts.  You realize it’s simple and easy, the soundtrack doesn’t swell and get dramatic, nobody rushes in and tries to revive you.  You’re alone with yourself, and everyone dies alone in one sense or another.

I had deleted my Friday note, and began a new note, scheduled to send on Monday morning.  What I wanted to be five words in the most succinct statement ever turns into paragraphs of rambling thought.  Said many of the things from the previous note, but tightened it up a bit so it would be shorter, not novella length.  Gotta edit, even if it’s your last piece of writing.

I said that I would be proud of them no matter what. And I wanted them to live their life remembering me and knowing that I’m proud of them, but don’t let me interrupt the amazing that they’re living.  I told them I loved them all, and when they smell the rain – the petrichor, my favorite smell –  think of me.  That if there is any way, I’m sending that message.  So that even when it rains they can have happiness.  I also said “Live for me.”

I was growing much more fuzzy.  Walking was more difficult, and I knew I was on my way.  I texted “I love you” to Wife and siblings, and sent “Sorry” to Therapist.  It was late enough I knew nobody would see the messages until morning.

I fell asleep on the couch on our porch.  I didn’t want them to have to look for me, and didn’t want to spoil our bed by dying in it.  I know that I wouldn’t want to sleep in a bed my partner had died in.  Much less any mess left behind.  I was a very considerate dead man.  And I slept deeply for the first time in weeks.  But not deeply enough.

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