743 Suicide

Saturday night, 6/17/06

I went to the dance show this evening, and it was very good. Afterward, I had a few drinks and nibbles at Bacchus, in New Paltz, with some folks - some of the dancers and their friends. (We decided we should sneak into a certain dancer's house and burn her skirt.)

Driving home up the Thruway I completely missed my exit - not easy because you go through woods and darkness, and when you come to the exit it's all lit up with businesses and all - but my mind was running in circles again and I didn't even know I'd missed it until I saw the signs for the next exit up.

There was a half-moon low in the sky, and it was red and orange. My mother used to call that "blood on the moon", and it was a bad omen. I did an entry on that a while back, about how in the Welsh mining villages, blood on the moon meant death, because it indicated dust in the air, and miners with black lung were more likely to die when there was blood on the moon. Anyway, It was directly ahead of me as I crossed the bridge, and I wondered who it was for.

Not for me, I hope.

When I got home, the bloody moon was directly visible looking out my front door.

Bad omen. Death.

There was no message on my phone. There was virtually no chance there would be, but I had hope. Dashed.

People say that when people commit suicide, they are being selfish, that they are thinking only of their own pain, and not of how they hurt the people they leave behind. Well, I've never agreed with that. Sometimes pain for those left behind is exactly what the suicide wants to accomplish!

Now, before anyone gets excited, I am extremely unlikely to commit suicide for any reason. In fact, at one of the lowest periods of my life, when I was in therapy, my psychiatrist actually laughed at me when I expressed suicidal thoughts. It's something I might think about, and toy with in an "I'll show you!" way, but not something I'd actually do. When I get depressed, it's not that bad. I usually pull myself out of it by getting mad. And then I get even. I'm quite seriously more likely to murder someone else than to murder myself. That is a possibility....

But it is therapeutic, for me, anyway, to think about suicide sometimes.

I thought about it last Monday. About how if I did off myself, everyone would know why, and who was responsible, and the accumulated guilt, anger, hate, and blame heaped from every direction would revenge me. Very bad vibes. Bad karma on you. "That'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget!" All in all, a very satisfying thought.

But of course it's all completely impossible. I couldn't figure out how to do it neatly. Seems like every way acceptable to me either isn't sure, or is very messy. And I wouldn't want it to be a long time before I'm found, so I'd have to arrange somehow to be found quickly, but that could be suspicious, or mis-timed, and lead to intervention. So the whole thing is impossible. Besides, I can't do it until my house is clean and neat, and my file cabinet makes sense. But if it were possible, wouldn't the aftermath be fun?

That was Monday. By today, I was into murder mode. I couldn't be implicated in any way in anyone's mind. I'd have to hire someone. That's not the hard part, oddly enough. I know people who know people. The hard part is that it would have to look like an accident, and I couldn't think of any plausible accidents that would be sure to get the proper result. Simple severe injury would be worse than nothing at all. Plus I'd have to arrange payment in an untraceable way, and I couldn't figure that out either.

So. It looks like I'm beginning to recover.

(Man - I hope this blog never ends up in court!)