2 But before that...
Now I can finally kill myself: I have the rope, the pills, the syringes full of air, the rat poison, the bathtub filled with water, the sleeping pills, the toaster, and the shotgun ready—I just hope I don't need to use it.
And I already made sure everything worked: I tied the knot as it said on the internet, tied the rope on the railing on the second floor and hung on to it—obviously I didn't put the knot around my neck, but I put my foot on it and swung—for 20 minutes without the rope breaking or the knots untying.
The only pills I got were losartan, a medicine to lower blood pressure, and, according to my internet investigation, the maximum dosage is 150 mg, or three 50 mg pills. To overdose with losartan I'll need more than three pills, and that's why I got 6 boxes with 28 pills each, meaning I have 168 pills, meaning I can easily overdose with my 8,400 mg of losartan.
I also got a box with 100 syringes of 3 ml, and I've already checked the first 10 by filling them with water and emptying them constantly. Now they are full of air and waiting on the table.
The rat poison is the one the store clerk recommended me, and it truly works: I spread it on a pizza slice I left in an empty lot near my house, and the next day I found the corpses of three rats and two cats. And in my suicide note I already wrote a passage where I apologize for taking the lives of five animals just to assure the poison's effectiveness.
The bath tub has a capacity of 110L, and I made sure it did not drain by filling it, dialing the water level, and stepping into it for 20 minutes.
The sleeping pills are the ones I currently use to get to sleep, so they work perfectly, although I plan to use a higher dose—2 or maybe 3 or more pills at once—if I ever need them.
I just bought this toaster, and I confirmed it worked perfectly by using it to make toast this morning. I still have my old toaster, my blender, my sandwich maker, my laptop, my desktop computer, and my cell phone for backup.
I also plugged each of these appliances into the bathroom outlet, and they all worked and have long enough cords to fall into the tub.
And lastly I used the shotgun last week at a shooting range. It is now loaded, and I have 20 spare cartridges.
I also have my suicide note. I've already checked it five times, and so far I've written 83 pages in which I apologize to practically all the people I have met for pestering them with my existence, especially my family, friends, neighbors, casual acquaintances, co-workers, my boss, their boss and anyone else who had a relationship with me or who would have it in the future. Although maybe 83 pages of constant apology is the worst ordeal of all, so I did a condensed version of the letter. Only 26 pages long.
But maybe 26 pages are still too many.
I should write and even more condensed version of it.
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Now I can finally kill myself: I wrote a 4-page long version. Also, I already checked and corrected it 5 times, I printed it and copied it to a USB and external hard drive, and none of these are corrupted or have any kind of virus or anything.
All the versions of my suicide note along with its respective endorsements are on the table, along with the papers of the funeral arrangement and the niche that I bought.
Now I just have to get on the chair, put the rope around my neck, take the pills along with the rat poison, kick the chair and wait. And if that doesn't kill me, I just have to get in the tub, take my sleeping pills, and throw the toaster in the water. And if that doesn't work I just have to blow my brains out with the shotgun.
Ok, so I will proceed with the first option. But if I kick the chair, it will make a lot of noise, and maybe the neighbor or someone will hear it and, since I never make any noise, they will come to know what is happening and, seeing me hanging from the railings of the staircase, rescue me and take me to the hospital, and if you take me to the hospital, then the doctors will know that I tried to kill myself and they put me in a mental hospital, where I'm not going to have as good a chance to kill myself as this one.
No, no, no, I need something to help to step on and then kick without making any noise.
I can use pillows, although I don't think I can stand on them.
Or I can cover the chair with something so it won't make noise. Maybe sheets or covers.
And that's what I do.
Then I get on the chair.
Ok, now I have to tie the rope around my neck and kick the chair and…
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My stomach is empty, and I don't want to deal with death while my stomach's growling.
So why don't I go to lunch one last time? It makes no difference if I die with a stomach full of nachos or not, although nachos usually give me gastritis, or reflux at least, but I'm going to die, so the consequences of my last meal don't seem that important.
Ok, so I'll go for nachos.
I let go of the rope, get down from the chair and prepare to go get my nachos. As soon as I eat them, I'll come back home, brush my teeth, and kill myself.
But before that I could go to the neighbor and tell him not to play his music so loud at such late hours. If I hadn't done it by now, it was to avoid conflicts with someone who knows where I live and who I run into on a daily basis, but now that I'm going to die I no longer have to worry about that. Also, when I die, another tenant is going to take my place, and he is going to have this same problem.
So it's decided: I'm going to go to the neighbor to tell him not to play his music so loud, I'm going to go get my nachos, and then I'm going to kill myself.
But before that I could finish other unfinished business, like going to work and personally saying goodbye to my co-workers and my boss. Or better yet: I should quit and tell everyone what I have kept for so many years: I hate them because they made every day of my life such an ordeal; if they prefer to stay in the office all day and yell at me and humiliate me, it's because they fear returning to home and that his wife and children yell at and humiliate him as they always do, and if I had not told them before it was to prevent them from firing me, but since I am going to die worrying about this job seems absurd to me.
Ok: I'm going to go to the neighbor to tell him not to play his music so loud, I'm going to go to work to quit and tell everyone how much I hate them and how pathetic they seem to me, I'm going to get my nachos and, finally I'm going to kill myself.
But before that I could enjoy a bit of my free time; as soon as I got out of college I got that job, and I've had it for the last 15 years. I could just wake up late and go to the movies or a museum, or maybe travel somewhere; I could visit Europe or go on a hike or even parachute; I mean, what's the worst that can happen to me? Death?
And I could also invest in that figure and comic shop that I've dreamed with my friend Victor. We will most likely go bankrupt after a few years, but I'm going to die already, so why not? It's not like I'm taking my money with me after I die.
And I could also enroll in acting classes. Or piano classes. Or cooking classes. And I could finally ask Sally out. She may say no, but I am going to die, and if she says yes, then it will all have been worth it. Maybe we could get married and grow old together.
And then I could go get my nachos and kill myself.
Ok, so I'm going to go to the neighbor to tell him not to play his music so loud, I'm going to go to work to quit and tell everyone how much I hate them and how pathetic they seem to me, I'm going to enjoy my free time, I'm going to enjoy my life, I'm going to go get my nachos and then I'm going to kill myself.
But before that…
