On suicide.

In our experiences with suicidal thoughts and urges, I have noticed that there is little, if any fear involved with the concept of the resulting death. Usually, there is an apprehension, at most; perhaps a calmness. The Host has been suicidal several times, and I have been twice, maybe three times. Most recently of course, this past month.

Sometimes during lunch we discuss work-related fatalities…the odd ones, of course. For instance, there was a worker who was electrocuted by several thousand volts, and he would have survived, except that his bladder was full. Urine and sweat are excellent conductors. The shock burst his bladder.

Stories like that put into me a healthy fear of electricity, and of death. And it makes me wonder: Why? Would have I been so cavalier in wanting to implement a suicide had I heard this story—or a similar one—earlier? Likely, yes.

In thinking of an accidental death, or homicide or whatnot, the fear exists because there is no control. With suicide, it is often meticulously planned and carried out in such a way that everything goes as planned. The supposed "ultimate" in control. (The same with self-harm, really; to cut oneself rarely, if ever hurts, even if it is with a scalpel blade and deep enough to require sutures. Then one receives a paper-cut, and is in agony. It is the control-factor.)

I thought about this for quite some time. I realized that even with suicide, there is no real control. One cannot control death itself. There is only the perception of control. Drinking acid or putting a revolver to one’s head…that is only setting up. One does not control the acid as it eats at the esophagus, or the bullet as it tears through grey matter. The entire idea is an oxymoron, really…I find it fascinating. Suicide as a form of controlling one’s destiny, and yet it is the antithesis of control. How very deliciously intriguing.