I almost committed suicide.
She broke up with me through a text message one night after a couple of weeks of silence that seemed a lifetime. How impersonal can she be? Very.
As soon as I got the message from my hand-me-down pathetic cellphone, the device that became the messenger of bad news on this lonely and rainy night, I went catatonic for 4 minutes more or less. Four has always been my favorite number, our anniversary day. We were supposed to celebrate our 4th year this Saturday and it’s only Tuesday. Yet, I don’t think I will be able to endure another 4 minutes or so because of this stupid message. I read it again. I wished it was a forwarded message but it wasn’t because it had my name on it. It says, “Joey, it’s over. I’m moving on.” I hate text messages.
Moving on, moving on, my ass. My head was spinning and the stairway seemed twisted. Or was it my mind? The 2 weeks we were not together made me think about unthinkable things, that is, committing suicide or at least pretend that I tried. She would give me the attention, at least. I realized that this was the best time to do it.
The stairs was a good suicide weapon; I can jump from the second floor of my apartment to the in-between floor of the second and ground floor that I share with my kuya who is obviously not home from work yet and most probably still doing some overtime work at Obertaym (a beerhouse near his office). I call it the ‘half floor’. I thought of myself falling down the flight of stairs and landing in front of the altar which is situated on the half floor. Not a good idea. It was an altar with all the religious ornaments my mother gave us when my brother and I moved in here a year ago. My parents retired and had to sell the house because it was too big for us. They’re now in our hometown in Bulacan. My mom even decorated the makeshift altar with flickering electric candle that illuminated the whole of the half floor. No, I cannot bear the guilt of my mother crying over his dead son who committed suicide in front of her precious altar. Thinking about the cherubic face of the Sto. Niño was also too unbearable. So I scrapped the idea. Besides, I never pictured myself dead with broken bones or crushed skull because I am a Nido boy and I love milk. It’s always been my habit to drink milk before I go to bed at night. I am proud to say that my mom has nourished us well. So much for my years of drinking milk, my teeth and bones are healthy, so a fall from a flight of stairs will just simply fail my suicide attempt. Failure is an enemy of mine especially now.
Maxine, the girl who brutally broke up with me thru text has been my girlfriend for 4 years and live-in partner for 2 months (during the first 2 years of our ‘mature’ relationship) suddenly went cold on me a month ago. No more sweet mushy text messages in the morning, no more after office meet-ups, and most of all, no sex. Or anything that resembles it. It just went dead. So I investigated, made friends with her friends. I hate half of them because they make fun of my ever procrastination on taking the bar exam, which I have a good reason why I had to pend it twice. First, I was admitted to a multinational company that pays big bucks (to my own standards) because they made me the head of a department there, to my surprise. Maybe because I was a rookie and higher salary expectations was not my priority at that time but just experience. Or perhaps the seniors quit a month before due to early retirement or should I say retrenchment that’s why they hired me. I was lucky. Besides, attending meetings and brainstormings sounded so executive and would definitely look good on my CV. I was a manager at age 24. Second, I wanted to focus on my new found relationship at that time which was more important to me then than taking the bar. Like a good career flourishing and love budding, one of these so-called priorities for a bachelor like me was bound to take a backseat. I was promoted a month ago with the prestigious title, Assistant Vice President. And as for my relationship, go figure. But I still made friends with her friends anyway.
Clutching my cellphone while going downstairs, there was flashback on why the relationship went down the drain. She was already seeing someone who works near her office building. I was too busy to notice at that time. Young executives are busy, aren’t they? It was a new guy according to one of her not-so-loyal girl friends who spilled it all out after 2 cups of Starbucks frappuccino. She sold her soul to the devil. The new boy was a college preppy boy, from a new breed of graduates who would rather work in the call center business because of the easy money and they get to practice their English hoping to correct their coño twang. The guy worked there. Which brings me to remember why she suddenly had to always stay in the office until 12 midnight because she had to take care of everything in the office (or beside the office building she’s working, I know that now). The boy was clearly someone who’s into older girls like Maxine, 4 years senior than him. He liked her because she can take care of him. I bet the guy had a pretty rough childhood, maybe lost a parent or two given his preference over older women like my Maxine. Maxine loves taking care of everything, our MRT cards, stray animals such as cats, and even plants. She’s pretty much like my mother or Mother Theresa. If she wanted to feel maternal, she should’ve gotten herself a dog. Let me rephrase that. If she wanted to feel maternal, she should’ve asked me to marry her and we’ll help each other in pro-creating our mini-mes. I don’t know what’s wrong with this statement. But I do not want to dwell on that right now because I am too busy (again, busy) about thinking of the best way to leave this cruel world.
So there I was, on the ground floor, barefooted. I did not bother turning the light on because it would be useless, I would be dead in a few minutes anyway. It would be nice if my brother comes home drunk and hurries to switch on the light and finds me on the floor, lying dead. It’s way better than a birthday surprise party. Surprise! I wish I would be able to see his reaction when he finds me but that would be defeating the purpose. Death is a dead-end street. That’s why there’s ‘dead’ in dead-end. And ‘end’ as well. Excuse my over analysis but if you’re planning to die, everything is magnified.
I thought of going to the kitchen and look for anything pointed, err, like knife. Fork doesn’t do enough damage, or chopsticks. So knife was the best option. I saw a couple of them near the sink, just hanging above. It was 4 or 5 knife pieces (if you count the potato peeler) and it all came in different shapes and sizes. I picked out the Sumo knife. I remember this knife being advertised on the home shopping network. My brother bought it there. Other people call this a butcher knife which brings me to not liking this anymore. I am not a cow. Or a bull. Or a pig. Or a chicken. I want to have some pride when I die. So I picked out another option. The bread knife. It’s small with little teeth on the edges. If I slice this on my wrist, surely it would result to uneven scars. I don’t like uneven scars on my body parts. It would seem I struggled and that is not the way to die with dignity. It should be peaceful and calm. Knives are out of my options right now. Besides, I never liked blood that’s why I went to law school instead of medical school.
It was getting late at 9 pm for me. I had the urge to text her back and tell her to reconsider. But I have been like that in the past and she would always give in. I think the chances of her doing the same thing again for me is nil. It would be different from now on. So I did not bother. I turned off my cellphone instead.
I paced the kitchen back and forth, not knowing what to do next. I got thirsty so I decided to look for something refreshing inside the refrigerator. I wanted a Coke Light, which was almost phased out in the market. Coke Zero was available on the ref. I ignored it. I have always preferred Light over Zero because of packaging. It may sound shallow but Coke Light looks and tastes heavenly to me while Coke Zero looks evil with all its black and red packaging. If I plan to die tonight, I might as well turn away from anything evil. That would give me sort of an immunity to go straight to heaven. San Pedro would be happy at least that I chose the heavenly-packaged soda in white can over the dark tempting one.
With no Coke Light in sight, I decided to eat just an apple which I found on the dinner table. Again, that would be evil. Adam, Eve. I don’t want to be another Adam again. I read somewhere that a certain amount of apple seeds are poisonous if you grind the seeds, take out its juice, and consume it within a period of seconds or minutes. The result would be lethal. I only have one apple on hand and doing grocery at this time is a bad idea plus we don’t even have a juicer. So, apple seeds are out of the question. Besides, why should dying be that hard? And why would falling out of love be that hard too?
I am now in confusion if suicide is really for me. I never thought that self-inflicted death would cure this feeling of emptiness and lonesomeness. I know I’ve made some lapses in the past during my times with her. I loved my work, I wanted to be successful, I wanted to impress her. I had to sacrifice a lot of supposed quality times with her but work came first or was simultaneously hand-in-hand with my relationship with her. I was unable to handle it or it’s just that someone came along to be with her during my absence. Maybe she wanted spontaneity from our routine. He was that intermission number or advertisement from our unending soap opera. I didn’t want to end it this soon but I know at the back of my mind (and heart) that our time together is over. I kept on delaying the closure that was supposed to come from a broken relationship. And the text message she just sent me was it. I cannot argue about it anymore.
And as I compromise with my suicide plan, I thought of the antibacterial cleaning agent inside the bathroom. A Lysol. I went inside and found the bottle, it was half-empty (or half-full?). I think it was enough for me to do what I had to do. Through this liquid, I would be cleansed with all my sorrows once I consume it. It may not be as strong as a Baygon pesticide or not as gory as slashing my wrist with a knife but this was the ultimate weapon for me. It’s fuss-free and uncomplicated. Consume and assume you’re dead right after.
So I sat on the bathroom floor and reached out for the bottle. I sniffed it and it smelled floral. It calmed me. I checked the faucet if it has running water and just in case I wouldn’t be able to take the taste of the Lysol, I could spit it out on the sink and drink water from there. I wanted to make sure that I have a back-up. The moment came and I was determined to drink it down. Whatever happens to me, whether I become successful with my suicide or not, it depends on this Lysol. Lysol would give me the answer. I will just worry about the outcome later.
I turned on my cellphone again and composed a text message for her.
“I know it’s over. Goodbye.”
I gulped down the liquid from its bottle. I felt dizzy right away. Darkness and silence.
Darkness.
Silence.
Still more darkness and silence.
I think I’m dead. I said to myself. I began to smile.
“He’s awake! Nurse!”
That’s my mother.
Oh no.
--the end--
© 2008 Cat Ramos
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