Journal Entry #8

We didn’t ask to be born. We didn’t ask to endure the heartbreaking pain punctuated by random moments of happiness. The thought that we have to endure life simply because others around us would suffer if we die is a weight that I personally don’t want to carry. So my existence, which I loathe, is a friendship requirement? I don’t want that responsibility. I want to be able to walk off and never come back. I want to choose to die and have people understand that. Think of the people around you who have told you that they wanted to kill themselves. I bet you thought of how hurt YOU would be at their death…not about how much they are hurting.

Tom Dang reached out to me multiple times before he succeeded. They told me later that he had hung himself in his garage…he wore his motorcycle helmet so the people who found him wouldn’t see the grotesque look on his face…how his face would be blueish purple and swollen. Can you imagine? In the last moments of his life he thought of how to protect the ones who would find him. I can imagine it. He and I had talked for hours and hours about life and the hurt he experienced. I visited him in the hospital after his first attempt. He thanked me and said he appreciated my friendship.

And I was so fucking furious at him for killing himself. I still am. He left three children.

And yet I want to do that to my friends? I want to do that to my son? No, of course not. I would want my exit to be a sort of martyrdom. I want to save someone else and kinda just be snuffed out in the process. Maybe I push a child out of the way of a bus? Maybe the bus kills me and everyone is focused on the child, thankful that he is ok, and I’m forgotten. That is how I would want to go. Because then no one would be angry at me and their grieving could be just at the unfairness of life and their anger directed towards shitty buses and their blind spots.

Or maybe I protect my son from someone who tries to shoot him. That would be traumatic for him…but at least he would know I loved him. Whereas if I die at my own hand…it would be said that I didn’t love him enough.

So here I stay…protecting others with my own type of motorcycle helmet.

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