I have never tried to kill myself,
but I have thought a lot about suicide.
Most of my premeditated fantasies take one of two forms.
Both involve me alone in my 2007 Volkswagen Rabbit.
The first is me, accelerating towards the edge of a cliff.
I do not brace for impact, and I do not wear a seatbelt.
I have never felt a force that strong, but in this case,
I imagine it feels like a euphoric splattering of paint.
The second involves no impact, and also the car doesn’t stop.
Actually, the car keeps going, and I don’t die.
In fact, the only thing that has killed itself is my ability to move forward.
I am stagnant now, unable to change, unable to spring into action
It has been said that “the only change is constant.”
Well if that’s true, then where does that leave me?
Because, I am my only constant.
I am reminded every day how rapidly life changes,
how the storefronts in shopping centers are replaced as if they were never there,
how houses are bought and sold and how people are always moving,
change is always happening,
I am not afraid of dying.
I am afraid of living, stuck with chemical malfunction.
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