Thoughts of Suicide

A detailed Summary of Thoughts of Suicide

Everything had to be perfect. It took me over ten minutes just to pick out the damn razor blade. I walked to the hallway closet and took out the package of blades. It was so hard to select which one was honorable enough to perform the deed which seemed inevitable at the time. The razor I chose was rusted and dirty. It had obviously been through a lot of shit, like me. I too had been used and was feeling dirty. It was perfect. It would take time to complete my mission because the blade was not as sharp as the others. This meant pain, this meant suffering, and this meant ecstasy. After selecting the worthy piece of metal, I returned the other packaged razor blades to their present spot on the shelf. My heart raced with anxiety, my mouth watered at the thought of what I was about to do, what I was about to end. I was going to stop the steady rhythm of what sounded like the beating of a drum, my drum. It was a constant reminder of my pain and suffering. It needed to be stopped because it was driving me insane. I killed the drummer; I stopped the beating of my heart. For once, all was silent.

It took more strength than I had anticipated to force the rusted razor blade through my skin and into the dark blue vein of my

wrist. I wasn't stupid, I knew which way to slice. I traced down my arm with the razor, leading through the tissue and muscle under my skin. I wasn't a weak little baby looking for attention by "attempting" suicide. I wanted to die. After successfully shredding through the arteries in one arm, I sliced through the other. This attempt was harder than the first. I was already weakened by the loss of blood. Eventually I was successful, and the razor plummeted deep into my veins spewing forth the deepest color of crimson. The weirdest part is there was no pain. My body was numb, and I could only imagine how badly it should have hurt. I didn't care. The constant drumming began to slow. I watched my life leak from my veins and onto the floor. Soon the colors began to change. The bright red of my blood began turning black. All went black, yet the drumming continued. It seemed like hours between each rhythmic beat. I thought it would never stop, but then I guess the drummer died. BEAT...BEAT...DEAD.

Now as I linger between the gates of heaven and hell, I reflect. Although I was alive for 16 years of my life, this is the first time I actually feel as though I am living, but I am dead. Is it really considered suicide when your are taking away a life that was never really being lived? I approach the gates for judgment and begin thinking about how everyone says that your whole life flashes before your eyes before you die. What would you say flashed before mine?

Even as a little girl I always had my fair share of problems. An abusive father would wake me up every night. I was always the one responsible for giving him the strange fulfillment he always required after a few drinks. A sexual fulfillment that in the 16 years of my life I never experienced. I never experie

Some common words found in the essay are:
, 16 life, razor blade, beating heart, blood virginity,

Approximate Word count = 1212
Approximate Pages = 5 (250 words per page double spaced)

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