You will not look back on this time in your life with fond memories. In fact, this might be the lowest you’ve ever been. Your partner of ten years has left you and you haven’t seen your son, Henry, in a month. You wonder if he misses you as much as you miss him. For a while you missed your ex too, but that wore off after the whole protracted custody battle debacle.
So here you are, in your crumbling apartment, eating reheated grocery-store pizza, watching American Idol and thinking how much the show suffers without Simon Cowell, even though you can’t stand the guy.
This wasn’t where you intended to be at this stage of your life. You should be spending time with your kid, sleeping at night with your spouse beside you, out with your friends on a Saturday perhaps, or taking the kid to a movie. You should have a house, a backyard where you can host parties and throw a ball with Henry. You should have a big-screen TV and an exercise room in your basement with plenty of space for the kid to play with all his toys.
Your eyes drift over to the small dining table next to the cramped kitchen, where a Transformer toy sits forlornly in its box. You bought it for Henry after the divorce but you’ve not seen him since. Now it is a symbol of your defeat.
This isn’t any way to live.
So you asked the Machine of Death and you kind of wish you hadn’t.
See, the plan was, rather than trying to take your own life in ways that might just land you in the hospital having your stomach pumped or removing a spike from your ass, you would finally pluck up the courage to let the machine test your blood and let you know exactly how you will do the deed. Okay, so there’s no telling how many times you’ll have to try, but at least then you would know which method to use, right?
Here’s what the piece of paper said: “YOUR CHOICE.”
What the fuck does that mean? Your choice? Nothing about your life is your choice anymore. Do the powers that be think you choose to live in this crappy apartment, eating cardboard pizza, watching disposable TV? Do you choose not to spend time with your son? Did you decide your ex should find a new lover and yet somehow manage to pin all the blame for the marriage breakdown on you? Is it your choice that your bank balance was cut in half and what’s left is constantly drained by greedy lawyers and vicious alimony payments? This is no way to live. You’re in a hole, there’s no way out, and not even the Machine of Death can tell you how to end it.
So what do you do?
Please choose an option below and then jump to the section indicated.
|If you want to try jumping from your twenty-storey balcony, go to 2.|
|If you would rather step in front of a bus, go to 3.|
|If you feel there is still hope, go to 9.|