I woke up in my bed with my garbage can next to me. It wasn’t full of anything but trash. I had a huge bruise on my stomach and the cut on my head throbbed and stung when I touched it. I stumbled out into my living room and was stunned to find Kirsten asleep on my couch. I applauded myself for putting on boxers before that. I tried being quiet but she woke up. She said that she didn’t want to leave me alone when I got in so she stayed, basically holding my hair while I threw up and talked endlessly. By the time I got to bed it was just too late and she stayed over on the couch, believing that I wouldn’t mind. I offered to buy her breakfast as repayment and that’s how I met the girl of my dreams. She saw me at my worst and still wanted me.
I don’t want to die alone. I can’t have anybody over here or they’ll try to help me and it’s too late for that. I don’t have cable so I can’t be comforted by watching happy people on television. And it’d be fucking awful to be found watching television. Looking like some lump of a man who loved television so much he died waiting until a commercial to call the ambulance. That leaves music or talking to myself. Some good music will ease my passage into the afterlife. It’s a bit clichéd to be found dead of some wound listening to music, but going surrounded by silence scares me more than dying itself. The fridge kicks on, but that’s not comforting.
That’s how I can save Kirsten. If I make it look like I killed myself then she would be off the hook and free to go about her life. But is it really suicide if I’m already dying? Am I still sinning? And what more could I do to myself to go quicker? The only thing I had in the house really was the knife. I can’t take more pills or else I’ll throw up. And also that’s a really girlie way to go out. Pills are such a cry for help suicide that people will just think I was stupid. No, I needed a different way to kill myself. Maybe I could cut myself up more with the knife, but I don’t really want to do that.
It takes a while to get up off the floor, but I finally manage. After all this time of picking myself off the ground I’ve gotten pretty good at it. But now I can’t even walk without leaning up against something for balance. The water on the floor has renewed the blood in a weird way that now everything I touch is stained. I feel really bad for the first person to find me here. It’s going to look like a splatter film. They’ll be expecting Jason to pop out of the bathroom and butcher them. They’ll probably laugh when they see the tiny wound I have in comparison to the axe murder they were expecting. Should I leave a note? Explaining my actions and why I decided to kill myself? No. Well, yeah, I should. Everybody deserves something.
I open a drawer and pull out a pad of paper and a pencil. I really can’t think of what to write. How can I ease the pain to my family and friends? Can I make it look like a suicide without having them lose respect for me? What can I say? Minutes pass and I still have suicide note writer’s block. Finally I write down the only thing I can think of. I simply scrawl “It’s nobody’s fault but mine.” That absolves Kirsten of everything, even the bad feeling of killing me. This is my last note of love to her. I should write, “It’s not your fault,” but I think that people would find out that she is the one who stabbed me. Stabbed me, not killed me. I did that. I killed me. I could have gotten help, but I didn’t. Damn it, I wish she were here so I could explain all this. Apologize for all the shit I’ve done in life, explain to her that I realize now what a prick I’ve been, tell her of my undying love, but I know I won’t get that chance.