[My Morbid (Suicidal) Fascination: A Disturbing Personal Tendency in Response to Life’s Worst Case Scenarios.]

Part 1 of 3: Heretic Fantasy Car That Kills and Stabbing the Sane That Won't Conform.

I could not recall the first time I had this notion but I guess it has been a while too long. When I sit and stare, the image of a dying protagonist, grinning back at the world ("I have sacrificed my highest price to the guarding of you. Honor me a revered death!"), never cease to tickle my crass sense of humor. A lot of my heroes are dead. Some of them died a glorious unforeseen death while some died horrifically forgotten on a bed crippled with old age. Ever since the news of death of Kurt Cobain and after witnessing the blaze of fame that came along with it, the idea of a grand exit out of this short life has fascinated me to the extent that death does not scare me anymore. Painful as it is told in the Koran, I see a different shadow of reality that binds so intricately with how the world perceives a suicidal icon. What is it that pulls me so near to the door of a horrible death by your own hands? Is it the mourning sadness that comes crushing down upon others who are still alive, forcing them to take compassion and savor the guilt of ignoring the fool?

Even the idea itself is not conforming to the pillars of logic. Why end your life when you can live it? Is it a mutual choice by far given to the healthy consciousness? Mutilate the skin to heal the soul? I still remember how my biology teacher asked the students to injure the tip of our fingers so that we could draw several drips of blood and put them on separate containers to determine its type. The blood test was intently to be done on your own because the interference of another’s blood would ruin the result. I couldn’t do it. I’d crap in my pants if it will help but still could not do it. I was staring at the needle like it was the Devil staring back at me. My forehead was sweating cold beads of terror and the agony of indecisiveness took control of my shaky mind. The world was mad; the teacher was mad.

"This is against human nature; to injure oneself!"
"Come here you sissy. Let me do it for you."

In a single swift of a marching footstep, the teacher reached out towards me. She took the needle with her right hand and my wet fingers with the left and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. Blood came gushing out like a runny nose. My eyes denied seeing that gory sight. I was not concerned that a woman had just poked the pale skin of my fragile fingers; the alpha male ego inside of me was too terrified to witness the act of a self-inflicted wound. Hell! Don’t tell me it was for the sake of science! Science rules out that action as suicidal. It has no slightest difference in slithering your own wrist or jumping off a clock tower. Instantly, I looked around to convince myself that all of that was but a frightful dream but what I saw instead inside the biology lab was beyond the sanity of man. There was blood everywhere: on the table, the white notebooks, on the girls’ headscarf, the boys’ necktie and even a splattered some on the windows. All was the outmost sheer whims of madness and grisly massacre of the innate preservationist instinct of life. As I stood enduring the carnage account, my mind slowly became torpid with the world’s rapture towards man’s suicidal notion.

"I have witnessed and now am a believer."

However, I dare not play the bloody fool with suicide’s tantalizing eminence. Such is an act of denying God. Such is an act of a drunkard in a fast German car. The world needs a hero right now more than ever but only the one who considers him worthy of a death not to be forgotten. Am I that person who longs the conclusive attention of the uncaring others? Would I like to be remembered in a fiery trail of departure with a motion picture soundtrack accompanying the exit of a totally wasted life? Finally, the mind has the courage to speak of its own darkest desires. God made it an exclusive bestowed gift to mankind the liberty of fantasy; thus the mind works miraculously enigmatic that way. Personally, it is my only cherished means of escapism from this hegemonic world of a dominant social majority.

(To be continued with Part 2 of 3)