Welcome one and all.
Today, we are exploring another double-feature for your reading enjoyment. This entry explores where Bob practices hanging himself from a tree, jumping out a tree, falling down the stairs (and making it look like an accident), and more.
Most folks think that the subject, suicide, is a taboo. Well, not think. . .it’s considered a taboo. They don’t want to talk about it. They don’t want to bring it up. They don’t want to think about it. Others say that suicide is a cop-out and selfish. What do I think?
Selfish? We are the owners of our own bodies. Whether you want to believe God (or whatever higher power, alien, Overlord, or Flying Spaghetti Monster) created us, and all that talk. . .great. You respect other peoples’ opinions and beliefs, even if they differ from your own vision and ideals (and ideas). You do not control another person’s body. We can get into a whole political debate and roast some marshmallows, but the point is, we do not know what lies on the other side. Faith is a coping mechanism to ease our worries and dark thoughts that we cease to exist after we die, or that our family, friends, and ancestors await us in death. It’s a belief. It’s not fact. It’s also. . .not quite fiction either. Though we have science to disprove plenty of things, we can’t say in the matter that is death.
The point is, people are going to do things: good, bad, right or wrong. Whether we want to admit or not. You can’t prevent it. You might alter a contributing factor or trigger. . .but it’ll still happen, some shape or form. It’s asinine. Madness canned with no expiration date.
In short? It’s asinine. Madness canned with no expiration date.
We need to talk about suicide, though. Our military personnel, men, women, kids—people of all walks of life. They are killing themselves left and right each day. It’s not natural selection or the “Darwin Awards.” It’s people who are living in a living prison and are struggling with their emotions, thoughts, and so much more.
There are plenty of ways a person can kill themselves. This entry explores when Bob tried jumping out a tree and trying to land on his head and neck just right. There’s falling down the stairs, and making it look like an accident. That part was to reflect on how some people get so downtrodden that they think they are the problem, that if they removed themselves from the world, it would go away. That their family or loved ones, etc. would be better off without them. That’s not true. There is always a case where yes, things are rough, but you need to be strong. If not for yourself, for your kids, your significant other, your friends, family, someone of interest. If not now, then later down the road.
If I had ended my life so many years ago, I wouldn’t have the great family I do now. It’s a trial—life. It’s not easy. It’s not designed to be easy. You will get bloody, messy, and be put through the ringer so fucking bad. It. Will. Hurt. It does hurt. You have to know, though that you’re not alone in the fight. Speak up. We might notice the signs but we can’t read minds.
This concludes today’s entry. We will finish out this week’s episodic return tomorrow. Eventually, this all will lead up to the ultimate end of Bob and his journey. It’s a journey in itself, too. Anyway, I wish everyone a good night and great rest of the week.
Until then. . .
The Chronicles of Bob: The Chronic Suicidal
Episode 5 – Snappin’ [Part One]
You know that cereal that you may have had (or hell, you still might have had it)? It’s made by Kellogg’s. Ah, what was it called? Oh yeah, Rice Krispies. Yeah, that’s it. It had those three characters on it called Snap, Crackle, and Pop. Well, I got a funny story for ya.
So, you know how I get those itches, right? Well, I’ve explained some on that and elaborated on just what it is. That is in terms of what it feels like when it strikes. Well, this particular time I wanted to know what it’d be like to hang myself. Simple enough really, right? I thought so, but maybe I was just doin’ it all wrong.
The idea is, is you make the noose, put your noggin through it, and kick out the chair or whatever you used for standin’ on. Let me paint you the picture. The kids and wife are gone away and I’m home alone. I know, I know, you probably know where this is goin’. That I hung myself at home and they all came home and found ‘dear old dad’ swingin’ in the archway.
Uh, no, because I thought I’d also try out one of those suicide helplines. Don’t get me wrong, they tried pretty hard to talk me down, but then I informed them that it doesn’t matter and that I am goin’ to die. Oh, and also that it wasn’t their damn decision if I wanted to take my own life or not. Anyway, I was
Don’t get me wrong, they tried pretty hard to talk me down. But then I informed them that it doesn’t matter and that I was goin’ to die anyway, and that I also never stay dead. Oh, and also that it wasn’t their damn decision if I wanted to take my own life or not. Anyway, I was stringin’ myself up in the archway, told them to call the cops and say that there was I was killin’ myself and to cut me down before the wife and kids got home. Well, the first time it didn’t go exactly as planned. I say that because apparently, my neighbor, bless ’em, saw me hookin’ up with the rope and decided to be a hero.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I like it when folks go all good an’ stuff, but I don’t need Nickleback comin’ to rescue my ass if I want to get myself off. Speakin’ of which…I need to add that to my list of to do’s. I’ve heard of it but never done it, yet. Anyway, so the guy comes in and gets me down. While I am flailin’ about tryin’ to just die here in peace, I end up fallin’ and breakin’ my arms. Two loud ‘pops’ and a few ‘crackles’ and some ‘snaps.’ Yeah, that felt wonderful. If I wasn’t already dead and gave a damn, I’d have sued that guy. But ya move on and just try it at different places.
I figured that maybe I could go out to the woods not too far off from the house. It has a creek, which led me to think that the sounds of runnin’ water could mask the sounds of someone tryin’ to gasp for air. I found a nice big ol’ oak tree and set myself up. The first time the branch wasn’t thick enough to support my ass. The next did just swell. I tried this a few times, once by just hangin’ and the other by a more dramatic ‘jump n’ hangin’ session.’
Swayin’ there as life leaves you, it gives you a few good moments of realizin’ that this is not a great way of goin’ out. There’s plenty of self-realization that you have fucked up and you now remember where it was that you placed the remote. Then poof. Darkness. It’s a slow way to go. Like snail pace.
The jumpin’ one was a bit interestin’. I climbed up above the branch and jumped off. I’ll tell ya, my neck snapped like someone bitin’ into a Slim Jim. It hurt for a moment, but that moment was so quick I woke up back in my bed and was ready for round two. The other time, though, my neck didn’t snap cleanly and I was left danglin’ there like a free testicle that popped out of someone’s briefs, swayin’ in the breeze. After that, I tried a few other ways to die to appease my itch.
I gotta say, though, these were not my most pleasant ways of goin’ out. Still, it got the job done.
Episode 5 – Snappin’ [Part Two]
Have you ever wondered what it’d be like to fall down the stairs and snap your neck? Maybe you did it as a kid…the fallin’ down the stairs bit…not the neck snappin’ part. Maybe it was a marvel that you didn’t kill yourself if you were born in the 90s and earlier. I ain’t gonna sugarcoat it, but I feel that kids today are so damn spoiled that they’ve lost the thrill of goin’ outside, getting’ dirty, play outside and then if it’s a shitty day and full of rain, you go in and play video games. I dunno, somethin’ that just bothers me.
Anyway, I always liked doin’ somersaults down the stairs. Y’know, bein’ a fuckin’ tumbleweed goin’ down the stairs. Few times, though, I thought (later on in life) of makin’ it seem like that those damn stairs just had it out for me. It was making sure you had adequate life insurance, etc. and then take the step. You know when they’d say in cartoons or classic movies “Watch out, that last step is a doozy?” You get the picture. You have to make sure it’s a long series of stairs, not those short stub kind of stairs. They’re not long enough and do minimal damage. At least, that’s my opinion on ‘em.
Alright, so, I took a few spills in the home. I figured, at that time in particular, that life was rough, and I was in a bad spot as it was in life that it’d probably be better if I were out of the picture. The wife and I were at one another’s throats after we had been through a pretty damn rough spot. The medication the docs had prescribed wasn’t doin’ much for me, and well, I had about enough of it. So, I made sure my insurance policy was still up to date and checked the amount. $500,000 for one was not bad. I mean, then at least she’d have a lovely house, be better off without me, and I mean, yeah, I’d miss her and at that time, our first child together, but eh, I wasn’t myself. So, one day I took a spill. I had to make sure it looked like an accident. Either faulty stairs, hand rail, bad step or just an ‘oops’ moment. I apparently didn’t die then, since I am still tellin’ you the story of exactly where…and how things came to be. I will say, though, that I got fucked up pretty bad.
This time, though, I was already dead and in limbo, Hell, or whatever, so it didn’t matter. Hell, if I wanted to jump off the balcony and swing from the chandelier I could. I mean, yeah, sure I suffer the consequences for a moment or two…but I always come back. I’m like a cockroach on fuckin’ Viagra, just skull fuckin’ Life in the eye.
Alright, I digressed there… So I tried a few stairways—to heaven if you will—and of those four attempts, I was successful three of the four times. I even tried adding some flair to them too. Like jazz hands, mimicking the Wilhelm scream (even playing it, too) and a few other things.
The important thing to remember is that when you want to try breakin’ your neck on the way down…you’re goin’ to live through most, if not all, of the tumble. It’s not an easy task, nor is it fun. The point is this, it hurts. A lot. So each spill I’m breakin’ my wrist(s), leg(s), ankle(s), arm(s), and maybe, just maybe my neck. Layin’ there at the foot of the stairs with bones poppin’ out of my ankle, wrist, arm. Not too fuckin’ pleasant, I’ll tell ya what.
The comparison between hangin’ or takin’ a trip is pretty obvious. However, if you’re makin’ your loved ones left behind less financially burdened…well…it’s a nice choice. Most places void insurance payouts…y’know because of the suicide clause.
In the end, the results were I became a giant wad of paper. An oversized wad of bloody meat paper.