A blog entry dedicated to me.

ENDING IT ALL
By: Kris Canimo
(http://chaospilot.net)

you woke up at three a.m. with a heavy and odd feeling; blue and yellow was playing on the background. after pulling out your earphones, you sat up and began to think. but the contemplating has gone to far and out of hand that you were now mentally counting your problems — and they swarmed you at their fastest pace: money, love, family, friends, job, family, love, money, love, money, money, money. the gravity of your problems was improbable to handle, you said. and the problems you tried to drown with alcohol last night had found their way back, and now, they were torturing you like hell.

you have never been this confused. thinking that this was the easiest thing to do, you let out a silent sob; the ticking of your clock that hung lifelessly on the wall reverberated around the room — punctuating your every sorrow. grief. and agony.

you surveyed the room. there was a chaos of everything in your desk. crumpled papers, most of them were clean as new, products of your attempts to write a sensible feature article. an ashtray filled marlboro lights smoked down to the filter. coffee stains left by your recent mug. and more cigarettes arranged in awkward variations.

you lit one cig and started to look for answers. you surveyed your room again, this time, thoroughly. you saw a blade, and then a shiny, presumably sharp, knife, and a pillbox which contained something you knew as sleeping pills. thus, your choices were (a) mildly brutal, (b) absolutely brutal, and (c) not-so-brutal. just when you needed it the most, you smiled at the thought. you took your last drag from your stick and you chose the third option.

you wanted to end it all. all the pain and all the problem. you swallowed a handful of sleeping pills and went back to bed. you put on your earphones again and heard the scientist playing as you dive in to your deepest slumber. the pills slowly sedated your senses. everything has started to blur, and the scientist was still playing, fading.

you woke up at three p.m. with the same heavy and odd feeling. you have never been this confused. you surveyed your room and lit one cigarette and started to look for answers. after your failed attempt to end all pain and problems, you chose something brutal this time.

For Rachel, with apologies.