Dear gentle readers, I write this with an open and true heart just to let you know that God does work in all of our lives through others and through His Word. He loves us when we don’t even love ourselves. His mercy abounds as His adopted heirs in His kingdom. Amen!
This is my very personal story and I am sticking to the facts— warts and all. I submit this episode to everyone who has gone through dark times in their lives that may have caused folks “dark” thoughts. I strongly urge and support professional counseling and help when situations and circumstances can be completely overwhelming.
Where there is life there is always hope! In the paraphrased words of St. Augustine:
There is not a saint without a past, nor a sinner without a future.
Over six years ago this was the selfish wrong-headed thought process that I toyed with and came to fantasize at, but obviously it never came to fruition:
I will commit a murder today. The victim was going to be me.
Shocking you may think, but true. No more Gumshoe. No surprise on my part though, it was way past due for this “self-homicide” to happen. End of story, case closed. Period. RIP Gumshoe, “Johnny we hardly knew yee” as the Irish lament is sung in pubs on the field of green with mugs of Guinness. It was that simple. Now I had to devise the plan for my demise. Gumshoe’s personal “Final Exit”.
There will be no note. Why bother? What would it matter anyway, I asked myself. I was not ever going to receive a response. By the way, who would be the recipient? Probably the “on-call” coroner deputy.
I was completely lost inside of my emotional fog. I was already dead inside. It was just the act of killing my outside. No big deal! The board game “Clue” acted out in real-time in my not so real fantasy world. I was going through the motions on my own “personal autopilot” on a one-way ticket to oblivion. My own flight of fantasy perhaps, or just possibly a bit too real? Let me proceed.
I stopped eating or caring for myself. I fooled people on the outside with a ready smile and my quick wit along with my sense of humor. Haha, the joke would be on me, an audience of one. It was easy for Gumshoe to hide the pain behind this facade or charade. I was the master of ceremonies in my own personal kabuki theater of disguise and disillusion. Hocus-Pocus! Disappeared from this planet.
Now back to the details kind folks. The devil is always in the details they say.
Hmmm? Starving would take too long. Hangings normally are awkward and often botched leaving one semi-brain dead and an extra-long sore neck. “OD-ing” on prescription drugs was also least effective when all I had was aspirin and my heart meds. Over the counter sleeping pills would only make me drowsy with the awful side effects of vomiting. None of that for Gumshoe. Neat and tidy was my mantra for this theater of my macabre fantasy. Carbon monoxide poisoning! Just pull my car inside of my garage; close and seal all of the doors and just turn the ignition key. Gently snooze into the long goodnight. The permanent dirt nap guaranteed? Not so fast death wish candidate. Errr, someone might hear the sound of the car’s motor running or definitely they might smell the exhaust fumes? Cough! Damn those nosey neighbors! I then would wake up with a set of blue lips and a bone-crushing headache; not to mention the mandatory trip to the psych ward while wearing the soft restraints. Embarrassing and pitiful to say the least. Nosey neighbors will wag their collective tongues.
I got it! Right before my bloodshot and sleep-deprived eyes—one of my readily available firearms. Hmmm? Pistol (revolver or semi-automatic)? What caliber bullet.Target placement—the head or the heart? What if I miss? My trigger control sucked at that present time. Braindead; paralyzed or vegetative state? Plus the mess thing and the locale? Not a pretty picture.
A suicide death house for sale is probably not best house marketing strategy to sell your house on Zillow. Besides, a precious few buyers would desire to live inside the “Lizzie Borden“ house unless they have an ax to grind.
Rifle or shotgun? Errr, much too messy again and it would be physically awkward to say the least. Totally out of the question considering the trauma that I would leave on the “body finder/discoverer and cleaner-upper”. I might be going “Looney-Tunes” but I am still gonna be polite and considerate towards my fellow man. Please excuse the mess Mr. Clean and Scrubbing Bubbles Thing.
Okay, maybe I can go jump into the nearby lake, river, or ocean since Gumshoe is a confirmed “sinker”’ and an extremely poor swimmer. Ahhh, no. Too many chances of fellow swimmers, surfers, lighthouse keepers, landlubbers, boaters, fishermen, or a friendly “Flipper” dolphin who just might rescue Gumshoe and push, drag, or hook his wet body back to shore. Where is the great white leviathan “Moby” when you need him? Captain Ahab is still beckoning and strapped along his side I suspect. Saltwater or freshwater “bloaters” are just not my style and the thought of being fish bait just doesn’t seem right to this Gumshoe. I could end up as the “sushi special”. Pass the soy sauce, please.
Jump from a high building? Too messy and I might land on someone and kill them. No way do I want to become a human sidewalk pizza. Definitely a new meaning for “take out” for sure.
You can plainly ascertain my dear readers that Gumshoe could not concentrate or think of any semi-rational thoughts during his suicidal fantasies or follies. Send in the clowns! It even took my left hand to steady my right hand to write my signature and it still was just a scribble that read backward in a mirror were messages from Beelzebub.
(Also see my aforementioned trigger control dilemma)