My Deepest Flaw.

I tried killing myself today.

First I attempted to cut my wrist but it didn’t work, due to the fact that a butter knife isn’t that great of an item to cut things with. I would have used a sharper object, if I had any sharper objects in my household. You see, I rarely cook anything – too much work and not enough time – so I have no culinary knives or tools you would use to cut things. I just get take out all the time. I have the money for it. Money is all I have really. If you were to look at all the receipts I have stored in the glove department of my car, you’ll get a good indication of my diet: 25 piece boneless wings, 4 double cheese burgers, a family order of orange chicken with rice, 3 large pizzas, etc. despite all the food I order, my body weight doesn’t match my diet. One would think I was an overweight abomination. I’m not fit but I’m not skinny either. I’m average considering my height and all. I have a tendency of ordering more than I can eat. I usually take two bites and I’m full. I do this because I don’t want the cashier to think I’m some lonely guy who eats alone in his house, which I am. I know I’m spending more than I have to, but its okay cause money is all I have.

My second attempt was trying to hang myself. The problem with this is I didn’t have anything to tie a noose to. Not a single ceiling fan or chandelier. Even if I did have one, I wouldn’t know how to tie a knot. I was never a boy scout or anything like that. As a kid I spent most of my time coop up in my room watching movies and playing video games. I was never really taught the important things in life, like tying a knot. As an adult now, I pretty much do the same thing. I say coop up in my room watching Netflix, level grinding in World of Warcraft, and reading a book. Because I’m an adult I feel obligated to read books; I think it’s an important thing in life.

My third attempt was placing a gun to my head and pulling the trigger. But then I remembered I didn’t have a gun so I threw that idea out the window.

I ran out of ideas eventually. My mind was uninspired. This happens a lot in my writing. I get to a point in the story where I don’t know where to go next. This always happens after my character reviles some big personal inner conflict they are going through. I usually make them take a walk as if that will fix the problem. I mean that’s what Frodo did. The only reasonable and possible solution for me to do, in order to take my life, was to drive down to my local Wal-Mart and buy a pack of single edge razor blades. Believe me, the last thing I want to do before killing myself was to spend eight dollars on something I’m literally going to use once, but because they don’t sell individual blades I’m stuck with an extensive amount.

I hopped in my car and drove to the closes Wal-Mart. The place was crowded and lines extended beyond usual length, of course this was due to the fact that only two lanes were open. Something I will never understand. I quickly worked my way through the ocean of people to the arts and craft aisle. I scanned the section, which was filled with colorful crayon boxes and racks of coloring books. Right next to the rainbow of life was the leading instrument of teen deaths. I browsed through the different brands of razors, as if it mattered. I thought to myself I didn’t want to be the guy who killed himself with a cheap brand of razors. I think people take note of that, you know, like they all judge where, how, and when you kill yourself. I figured I should kill myself in luxury, at least.  The last thing I want my tombstone to say is: Here Lies Victor James: He Was Too Cheap For An Eight Dollar Blade. So I buy the most expensive blades, get in the car, and drive. I don’t drive home. I drive far, far to a secluded location into the cliffs away from the city.

During the long drive to the cliffs I play loud music, nothing specific just loud enough to stop me from thinking. I think the last thing I want to do is think. I think that’s what stops most people from committing suicide it the thinking process. You start getting into a deep thought about life, and how your death will affect your love ones. You then imagine what the funeral will be like, and how all your loved ones will gather together in a room and stare at your dead body, crying over how young you were. What will people say about me in their eulogy? Will any of my past lovers be there? What song will they play at my funeral? These are questions that change your mind about killing yourself, so you decide to live to find out the answer.

I arrived at my location. The area was open, with a few trees here and there to hide from the sun. I parked my car under a grove of trees in a spot where I can view the city that I called home. I made it in time to enjoy the sundown, so I sit on the hood of my car with the music still blasting to stop my thought process. I sat there absent-minded as the bright orange sky, which illumined by a yellow sphere, slowly faded into a midnight blue with little white stars hovering over the light filled city, and the moonlight gleaming a sliver ray of light through the opening of the trees. Then for a brief moment everything went silent and my mind produced one question, a question that build a tower of emotions. Who will miss me?

My eyes slowly filled with tears of self-pity, and my stomach fell in an abyss that felt never ending. I desperately tried to hold them in, the tears, but the emotion was too much. The question was already sinking its teeth into my nervous system and all I can do is act. Tears gently trickled down my cheeks. I gazed my shot hair back with my hands, placing me in a fetal position on the hood of my car. I stayed in that position for two minutes, when anger arose from the abyss my stomach had fell in. I shot up with a violet force, shouting nonsense from the top of my lungs. There laid a thick branch close to my location, I picked it up and held it like a bat. I started bashing my car leaving huge dents, cracking the windows. I smashed all while shouting, “I have no one to blame but me! I’m here because I chose to be. I walked away! I walked away because I thought I had no one! I wondered alone going from city to city, leaving behind my friends! My family! My entire past life! This is not home!”

I stop bashing the car

“Now here I am. Alone. There is no one to talk to and no one to listen to. I walked away from the people who cared about me, from the people who listened to my stories. I walked away from everything that ever meant anything to me. There is nothing here, nothing but me. Just me.”

I fell to the ground, leaning my fatigued body against the battered vehicle. I rested for a few minutes, trying to grasp every breath I can. I stood and stared at the damage I have bestowed on my car. The front window is completely cracked, broken mirror, dents covering the hood and the driver side of the car, and tires slowly losing air pressure. I grab the razors from my pocket and threw them off the cliff. I leave everything and walk back to the city. As I walk away I can still hear the radio, which was still playing, slowly fade into the distance. I think the song was “O Children.”

I tried killing myself today, but I took a walk.

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