Nightmare remembered

Yesterday, I woke up having had a nightmare. This is odd, because I usually don’t remember having had any dreams at all. If I do, it’s usually no more than the fact that I dreamt something, as the details quickly fade away.

The dream was about my implementing a suicide plan I have thought about more than any other: finding a place to die where my body wont be noticed and shooting myself. In this instance, it was a dumpster (because who looks in a dumpster very carefully that would report a body should they notice one?), though I have often thought of other places as well. I would use a shotgun because they are relatively easy to come by and effective (the most effective, in fact1). I’d climb in, carefully position myself, and pull the trigger, hoping no one would hear or if they did, they wouldn’t bother to investigate.

That’s the trouble. This plan requires that no one investigates or happens to look into the dumpster too soon. While death should be really quick, there is no guarantee that will be. If something should happen to go wrong (e.g., a bad angle on the shot is pretty easy to imagine), and then someone manages to discover my bloody ass in a heap of garbage, then they might try to save me.

That’s the nightmare. I dreamt I had woken up in a hospital. My face is badly deformed, I’ve lost an eye, most of my nose, and I have a mangled hole for a mouth that I can’t really use to form words. I finally look like the monster I feel like when I’m feeling my worst, only now I can hardly talk, while everyone asks why I did it, and look at the price I paid. As if they think that disfiguration is what I was after; the goal wasn’t to live and have to explain myself, much less adding “killing myself” to the long list of things I’ve failed at.

It’s not all that likely to go wrong, but when it does go wrong, shooting yourself seems to really go wrong. Which is why my life wont end this way.

 

 


1 note: all of my stats will come from lostallhope.com unless otherwise stated.

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