Chapter 7
.
I began quietly researching methods of possible suicide. Pills seemed like the obvious choice. But apparently it's a myth that you can just swallow a bunch of pills and go to sleep, never to wake up. People can vomit and shake uncontrollably from an overdose of sleeping pills. I could hang myself, but choking to death also seemed painful. Drowning myself had the same problem, and no guarantee I wouldn't stop myself out of instinct. Slitting my wrists also sounded painful. Maybe if I jumped off a tall building it would be an instant death, but there was also the risk of killing some random person, and I didn't want to hurt anyone but myself. I've heard that guns aren't typically used by women in suicide, but for me it seemed like the best way to guarantee myself a quick and painless death. At the time I still wasn't sure that I was going to do it, but I was keeping my options open. I did give some thought to what others would do after I died. It turned out that someone with ALS cannot donate their organs, for obvious reasons. But I could donate my body to science, let some doctors or medical school students dissect my body, maybe it would help to find a cure. I even had a fantasy that maybe my death could lead to a cure for others. I supposse a part of me knew it wouldn't lead to a cure immediately, but it could help them. So mom helped me make arrangements for donating my body to science. At the time I told her that I hoped to live to be 132, that this was just a precaution, like registering as an organ donor on my driver's lisence. But like I said I was keeping my options open. Just before graduation I reached out to Megean and Alex, let them know I forgave them for what they did. One way or another I wouldn't be seeing them for much longer. I tried to make the most of the summer. I swam in the ocean, went to the movies, went to a couple of Dodger's games, and had some fun. Mom said it was my last chance to cut loose before I entered the real world, so she was relatively okay that I experimented with a little alcohol and marijuanna. I just had to promise I'd always use an Uber in those cases. I knew that one way or another, this was my last real summer of freedom. But the closer it came to August, the more stressed out I was. The drugs and alcohol didn't help as much as I'd hoped. Mom kept saying that I needed to pick a college, finally I chose UCLA. It was only a two hour drive from our home, I could come home if I got too homesick and still finish a semester. By August 18th I had made my decision. I don't think there was any one event that triggered it. The overall stress, the abortion, my breakup with Alex, my refusal to seek treatment for my depression, and the thought of suffering from ALS in later years. Had I sought treatment, admitted I needed help. If I had believed in some God, worried I could be punished for my sin. If mom hadn't kept a loaded gun in the house and given me a fairly easy way to die. If any of these things had been different, would I have still taken my own life? I don't know. They say that if someone is truley determined to die they will find a way. That might be true, but if someone is on the fence, maybe it should be a little discouraging. That afternoon mom took Bridget somewhere, I'm not sure where. But it seemed like this would be the perfect time to do it, when they weren't around. I knew they would be in pain from my suicide but I figured I wouldn't be around to see their pain. That morning, I got into an argument with Bridget, I don't really remember what it was about. It wasn't the first time we fought, and she didn't think it would be the last. Mom thought she would force us to make up. I do regret this part, that I didn't apologize to her before I died. While they were gone I had a little to drink. Mainly for the courage to do, what I had already decided to do. I got the gun from the safe, fumbled a little as I put in the bullets. I walked outside to the beach. I thought that this was the last thing I would ever see, that this breeze would be the last thing I ever felt. So why not make it a good feeling? I went there, nodded to the young couple. And before they knew what was happening I put the gun to my head and blew my brains out.
.
So, that's my story. Do you think my reasons were enough to end my own life? That's up to you. You might think this is the end of the story, so did I. But my death doesn;t mean the story is over. It just means I don't get to participate in these actions anymore. But I still have to watch.