Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Suicide Never Seemed So Bright
6 Reviews14 year old Gerard Way commits suicide, as a result of bullying over being fat AND his fucked up life.
Make of this what you will. It started off being about Gerard as a kid but.....i'm not even sure it's about him anymore. shrugs .
So, here I am again. Staring at the violent struggle of the ocean’s waves from the edge of a cliff. The steel cleaver feels cold and emotionless in my left hand. I tried to slit my wrists and let the blood pour out, I really did. I guess I’m too much of a pussy though, because the cuts weren’t even that deep and they stopped bleeding after fifteen minutes. I felt light headed at best. Failed suicide attempt #1. The rain fades my clothes to a muted pink as the blood is cleansed from my aching torso. I can taste the copper liquid on my tongue. It’s still warm.
What will it be? Shall I put a bullet in the back of my head, or jump into the icy waters below and hope they kill me? Choices, choices. Of course, it’s all my fault that I’m even considering going through with this.
“I lied,” I tell the harsh winds, my bottom lip trembling slightly. They tell me nothing in response. I’m not the first crazy fuck who’s stood on this cliff, and I certainly won’t be the last. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? How many dishonest men and woman have lost their lives to these rocks, just…..given up on life. Who did they leave behind?
I laugh as I think of the time I tried to drink a whole bottle of nail varnish remover. Too pathetic to even do that, I ended up spitting it all out in a last minute rush of terror. That was failed suicide attempt #2. Then there was that time I took a load of coke and prayed that I would O.D. I woke up a few days later with a fever. #3.
Swallowing as many paracetemol as I could because a friend had tried it, and although they didn’t kill themselves In the end, I knew it would work. Chickened out on the 13th pill when my tongue felt heavy and I couldn’t move my legs. #4. Smacking my head against the electric piano in my bedroom in the hope that it’d give me brain damage and I’d die. #5. Forcing my best friend/kind of almost boyfriend who ruined my life when I was just a kid to drown me. Then HE chickened out when I actually started dying. #6. Setting myself on fire. I stopped before the lighter I keep on my windowsill to light candles with even touched my skin. #7.
….I think you get the idea. I’m not exactly lucky when it comes to suicide.
This time will be different.
I remind myself of all the people I hurt while I stay alive. The other close friend, who had to watch me fall apart. Who pretends that me using doesn’t affect her anymore, but I know it does. My parents, who have no fucking idea what I’ve done. They just think it’s ‘teen angst’ and that it will pass in time. Yeah, well. As Muse once said, “Our time is running out.”
The friends who think I’m lying about it all. To be honest, I would be happier if they kept thinking I made it all up for attention. If they knew what I’d done, they’d probably call the police and arrest me. The dear brother, my favourite family member. My dad.
Not my mum. I’ve always fucking hated my mum.
Fuck, I’d even miss the cats.
The temptation to make this failed suicide attempt #8 was overwhelming. I’m a true coward at heart, no matter how hard people think I am. The thought of such a vast and empty nothingness like death shakes me to my very core, and fills me with a horror I could not describe.
No. I had to do this.
I slip off my shoes. I’m not even sure why; it’s not like I’ll be needing them again. I roll up the suicide note I’ve written hundreds of times and tucked it into my right shoe. The cleaver falls to the rocky floor with a metallic clang, and i inch closer to the edge.
But fuck, this will be such a release. I hate life. I hate my ‘friends’, who I know talk about me behind my back. I hate my mum, who makes me miserable and calls me fat. I hate the people at my school who pick on me just because I’m tubby and ugly. Can’t they give a 14 year old a break? I just can’t endure life anymore. Surely the temporary pain of suicide will be better than a lifetime of suffering.
I’m kind of sad that I didn’t reach 18. The grand master plan was always to die at 21, I figured in my head that I would at least get to live a little by then. I’ve been obsessed with that god-damn number ever since I made my mind up about it. But no. I can’t wait that long anymore.
I figure I should say something. Last chance, isn’t it? I better make this count.
“In the words of the late and great Kurt Cobain, ‘It is better to burn out than to fade away’.”
God, I sound like such a moron.
It all catches up on me at this moment, and I start to sob for the person I could have been. I stand there for what feels like hours, struggling to control my emotions. I manage to keep the tears at bay, with only the occasional hitch in my breath.
And then I whisper quietly as an after thought,
“I hope you let me into heaven.”
I take that all important tiny little step. There is a brief feeling of weightlessness as I fall, then….
Everything goes black.
I finally did it.
So, here I am again. Staring at the violent struggle of the ocean’s waves from the edge of a cliff. The steel cleaver feels cold and emotionless in my left hand. I tried to slit my wrists and let the blood pour out, I really did. I guess I’m too much of a pussy though, because the cuts weren’t even that deep and they stopped bleeding after fifteen minutes. I felt light headed at best. Failed suicide attempt #1. The rain fades my clothes to a muted pink as the blood is cleansed from my aching torso. I can taste the copper liquid on my tongue. It’s still warm.
What will it be? Shall I put a bullet in the back of my head, or jump into the icy waters below and hope they kill me? Choices, choices. Of course, it’s all my fault that I’m even considering going through with this.
“I lied,” I tell the harsh winds, my bottom lip trembling slightly. They tell me nothing in response. I’m not the first crazy fuck who’s stood on this cliff, and I certainly won’t be the last. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? How many dishonest men and woman have lost their lives to these rocks, just…..given up on life. Who did they leave behind?
I laugh as I think of the time I tried to drink a whole bottle of nail varnish remover. Too pathetic to even do that, I ended up spitting it all out in a last minute rush of terror. That was failed suicide attempt #2. Then there was that time I took a load of coke and prayed that I would O.D. I woke up a few days later with a fever. #3.
Swallowing as many paracetemol as I could because a friend had tried it, and although they didn’t kill themselves In the end, I knew it would work. Chickened out on the 13th pill when my tongue felt heavy and I couldn’t move my legs. #4. Smacking my head against the electric piano in my bedroom in the hope that it’d give me brain damage and I’d die. #5. Forcing my best friend/kind of almost boyfriend who ruined my life when I was just a kid to drown me. Then HE chickened out when I actually started dying. #6. Setting myself on fire. I stopped before the lighter I keep on my windowsill to light candles with even touched my skin. #7.
….I think you get the idea. I’m not exactly lucky when it comes to suicide.
This time will be different.
I remind myself of all the people I hurt while I stay alive. The other close friend, who had to watch me fall apart. Who pretends that me using doesn’t affect her anymore, but I know it does. My parents, who have no fucking idea what I’ve done. They just think it’s ‘teen angst’ and that it will pass in time. Yeah, well. As Muse once said, “Our time is running out.”
The friends who think I’m lying about it all. To be honest, I would be happier if they kept thinking I made it all up for attention. If they knew what I’d done, they’d probably call the police and arrest me. The dear brother, my favourite family member. My dad.
Not my mum. I’ve always fucking hated my mum.
Fuck, I’d even miss the cats.
The temptation to make this failed suicide attempt #8 was overwhelming. I’m a true coward at heart, no matter how hard people think I am. The thought of such a vast and empty nothingness like death shakes me to my very core, and fills me with a horror I could not describe.
No. I had to do this.
I slip off my shoes. I’m not even sure why; it’s not like I’ll be needing them again. I roll up the suicide note I’ve written hundreds of times and tucked it into my right shoe. The cleaver falls to the rocky floor with a metallic clang, and i inch closer to the edge.
But fuck, this will be such a release. I hate life. I hate my ‘friends’, who I know talk about me behind my back. I hate my mum, who makes me miserable and calls me fat. I hate the people at my school who pick on me just because I’m tubby and ugly. Can’t they give a 14 year old a break? I just can’t endure life anymore. Surely the temporary pain of suicide will be better than a lifetime of suffering.
I’m kind of sad that I didn’t reach 18. The grand master plan was always to die at 21, I figured in my head that I would at least get to live a little by then. I’ve been obsessed with that god-damn number ever since I made my mind up about it. But no. I can’t wait that long anymore.
I figure I should say something. Last chance, isn’t it? I better make this count.
“In the words of the late and great Kurt Cobain, ‘It is better to burn out than to fade away’.”
God, I sound like such a moron.
It all catches up on me at this moment, and I start to sob for the person I could have been. I stand there for what feels like hours, struggling to control my emotions. I manage to keep the tears at bay, with only the occasional hitch in my breath.
And then I whisper quietly as an after thought,
“I hope you let me into heaven.”
I take that all important tiny little step. There is a brief feeling of weightlessness as I fall, then….
Everything goes black.
I finally did it.
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