Suicide Notes

by Michael Thomas Ford

Seriously, I think I would pick Hell. The people there would probably be more interesting.

I know they’re hoping I’ll say something about why I did what I did. So for the record: I just felt like it.

I’m not crazy. I don’t see what the big deal is about what happened. But apparently someone does think it’s a big deal because here I am. I bet it was my mother. She always overreacts.

They’re orange—traffic-cone orange—like they’re a warning to anyone who might walk in. DANGER: CRAZY PEOPLE TALKING. TAKE ALTERNATE ROUTE. Besides being ugly, they’re also really unpleasant to sit on. After about five minutes my butt fell asleep,

How come someone always saves the people who try to kill themselves and then makes them tell everyone how sorry they are for ruining their evenings? I keep feeling like everyone wants me to apologize for something. But I’m not going to. I don’t have anything to apologize for. They’re the ones who screwed everything up. Not me. I didn’t ask to be saved.

“You’re wasting my time,” said Cat Poop. “We’re done for today.” “What if she tries to make me hurt myself again?” I asked, all concerned. “Or what if she makes me hurt someone else? I might start pirouetting all over the lounge uncontrollably, and I don’t know what would happen if I did that. It could be a Sugar Plum massacre.”

And just because your life isn’t as awful as someone else’s, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. You can’t compare how you feel to the way other people feel. It just doesn’t work. What might look like the perfect life—or even an okay life—to you might not be so okay for the person living it.

Why is it okay to put someone to death, but it’s not okay for those people to do it themselves?

I’ll tell you what I think. I think it pisses people off when you kill yourself because it takes away their chance to control your life, even a little bit. They don’t like it when you end things the way you want to and don’t wait for the way it’s “supposed” to happen. What if suicide is the way it’s supposed to happen? Do they ever think of that?

They move their mouths, but nothing important comes out. They just talk and talk and talk.

“Anyone can be crazy,” she answered. “That’s usually just because there’s something screwed up in your wiring, you know? But suicide is a whole different thing. I mean, how much do you have to hate yourself to want to just wipe yourself out?” “Maybe that’s just about wiring, too,” I suggested.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. We can just sit here together.” She buried her face in her rabbit’s fur, but I could see she was smiling. We sat like that for about an hour. I talked about some stuff, nothing important, and she sat there and listened. It didn’t matter that she didn’t say anything. I think she was happy just having company.

If I forget about the pain, I might also forget that it was a really stupid idea to do it in the first place. My

Personally, I think they killed the bear because they were afraid of it. That’s what people do, kill the things they’re afraid of.

No one ever tells you that when your heart breaks, you can feel it. But you can. It feels like something has crumbled inside you and the pieces are falling into your stomach. It hurts more than any punch ever could. You stop breathing, and for a while you can’t remember how. When you finally do, it feels like your throat has closed up, like you’re trying to suck air through a straw.

I tried to kill myself because of what happened with Burke. Not Allie and Burke. Me and Burke. During Christmas break.

It’s sort of perfect, when you think about it. Isn’t falling in love a lot like losing your head?

If you ever have to tell your parents you’re gay, there’s only one thing I can promise you: However you think they’ll react, they won’t.