Of Skittles and Suicides

Skittles used to be my comfort food. It’s droll how I used to buy Skittles just to sort them by color, and when I’m through with the last bonbon, I start eating them, from those with the most color up to those with the fewest. Then, I would feel so much better.

If only other people can discover how a pack of Skittles can sidetrack their troubles, then maybe there would be less of them to commit suicide. Haha!

(orginal photo)

Lately, suicide is always the subject of my conversations with random people. We share stories about people who shot themselves, who hanged themselves, who poisoned themselves, and all means of ending their, I have no idea how miserable lives.

People would say that at one moment or another, we would really come to that point of thinking of putting an end to our lives.

My pseudo ex-boyfriend had a tendency to be suicidal, frightening, I know. But, my friend’s ex-boyfriend had a tendency to be suicidal and to be a murderer. Now, that was more frightening. And crazy.

I did think about it, years ago, when I was in high school. High school students always rebel against their parents; high school students always have their hearts fractured by high school jerks; high school students create inferiorities that will run through their systems. High school students are insecure, obsessed, and defenseless.

Actually, I didn’t really think of cutting the pounding, because every process and method I had in my head demands pain, and I mean physical pain. I just imagined myself suddenly vanishing from where I was. But then again, I knew they are nothing more than pure thoughts that would stay at the rear of my head and would not be able to come out. Whatever the reason of that idiotic thought, I don’t remember. I’m certain though that it wasn’t something foolish, but sure, shallow. All I could remember is that I had a fight with my dad, and he rarely gets furious toward me, and my mom was so angry too, and it was bad parenting right, because at least a parent should console the child. So imagine how I felt. I felt so bad, and I was so mad. So that was my story and the day after, everything around me was normal, I was in my most normal thinking, and I just laughed and concluded that I did have a tendency to be emo, silly-emo.

Apart from my failed attempt, I have heard a lot of stories. Sadly, some were successful, such an odd word for such context. What were they thinking? Bene and I already discussed this and we came up with an assumption that those people generally weren’t really thinking at all. Because if they were, where would they think they would go? What would they think could possibly happen to them? It is like jumping out of the fence not knowing what’s in store at the other side of it. We assumed that those who were really able to do it had clouded minds. They were full blown mad men. Having a rush of all unpleasant emotions and terrible sceneries in their heads, they had lost them all, they had lost control.

I know my life is so far from wretched if measured up to those who committed suicide. Still, who were they to decide to terminate something that they did not set up in the first place? Who were they to tell that their luggage were too weighty to carry so they would just throw them, and the backs and shoulders that would be carrying them were the backs and shoulders of people they left behind? Who were they to put across the meaning of love when their loss would torment their loved ones all their lives?

So, if you are one of the many people that stab to breathe their last every day, you might as well have second thoughts. Don’t be selfish. You should try to chew some Skittles instead.