Suicide Notes

by Michael Thomas Ford

Maybe I am, but I have to say, I don’t feel lucky. For one thing, I’m stuck in this pit. 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?

What if suicide is the way it’s supposed to happen?

That probably sounds totally freaky, but part of me doesn’t want to forget what it felt like, even though it hurt. If I forget about the pain, I might also forget that it was a really stupid idea to do it in the first place.

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.

We’re in here because someone—our parents, our doctors, the people who supposedly love us—are afraid of us.

“You let her know it was okay to tell you,”

That made me think about the astronauts again, about how the air on Earth smells so bad to them. I took a deep breath and filled my chest with the cold air. It didn’t stink. It smelled great for a change.

I’d like to think they were Wonder Drug. Then at least she could have gone thinking she was flying.

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