The time has come

Foto de Jordan Benton

I had thinking about it since I was 14 years old. Why, should I ask. I’m not sure. I had always blame my parents, because they didn’t love me (they don’t even want me) but after living half of my life alone and away from them I’m not sure about that.

They say that things that happen in early childhood mark one’s life forever, so, maybe the parents theory is right: They told me I shouldn’t have to be alive so I assume I shouldn’t.

Forty years had passed from the very first time I remember thinking about suicide. Back then, I was lonely surrounded by people who didn’t care about me. I still am. I’m convinced that if I die now, nobody will notice for several days, maybe weeks. Of course that is not true in strict sense. People worship bodies more than they should and of course they will notice and throw a big party around my cadaver at my own expense. The real “not noticing” will happen a few days or weeks after.

After the initial shock -assuming there would be a shock- most things will settle very quickly. My wife will only have to stop coming and the younger kids will forget me in a couple of weeks. My eldest maybe will have memories of me for a couple of months, but once the utilities problem is solved, they won’t.

In a year or so, a few conversations scattered here and there will mention my brief pass on some people’s lives. You don’t speak about the dead very often. The only living thing that will remember me for the rest of its life will be my cat. I think it will be euthanized soon after my departure, because nobody else can stand it.

So, the time had come. I hope it won’t hurt.

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