August 6th, 2008

Blake - Pinup: Close

D-Day + 1

My friend Jeff keeps annoying me to get a Facebook account or a MySpace page, or some such shit. When I was looking into the links to these social networking sites he kept sending me, LiveJournal seemed to have the least potential for deevolving into rampant douchebaggery. I'm not emo enough for MySpace, I hated everyone from High School except Jeff, which pretty much makes Classmates.com a write-off, and to be perfectly honest Facebook just takes up entirely too much time. So I thought to myself, if I were to do something like that, LiveJournal would be the way to go. Mind you, at the time I had less than no interest in splashing my private life all over the internet for random strangers to see, subjecting myself to endless streams of "lol's and "OMGWTFBBQ!!!!!1one" nonsense. Now... I feel more lost than ever. I need to get my feet back under me, somehow get my thoughts in order, and for whatever reason this site popped into my head.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Blake Carson. I am twenty-six years old, and have a shitty job dispensing customer service platitudes to idiots for a company called SyncGrove. I am a failed journalist, with with no career, no girlfriend and no prospects. I live in a loft apartment in SoHo, even though it is far more expensive than I can afford. I can't bear to move because, well it's my last link to her... I feel weak even admitting that. Shit, I guess I shouldn't have tried doing this while drunk. You can't really blame me.

You see, yesterday I killed myself.

Four times.

First I slit my wrists. I remember lying in the tub full of warm water, feeling the sharp pain of the razor slicing into my tendons and veins. Quietly the pain of the cut seeped away as the blood streamed down my arm. I remember closing my eyes, lulled by the soft pat-pat-pat of the drops hitting the floor, a gentle rhythm that grew slower, and slower...

When I woke up, the water was cold, my hands pruned up. There were long minutes of confusion as my brain fought through the fog of sleep. Realizing that my neck hurt like a bitch from the awkward angle I'd slumped into, I sat up to massage it... and that was when I saw the blood and I remembered. I looked at my wrists, and blinked with dumbfounded eyes at the unmarred flesh still dripping with the diluted blood that streamed off my body in watercolor rivulets. It couldn't have been a dream, and yet there was no sign of the injury, not even a scar.

I think I may have gone a little mad then.

I remember putting a gun in my mouth and pulling the trigger, harsh acrid blast of gunpowder shooting through my nostrils for an instant before the sensation of blood pouring out of my mouth and nose. I don't remember much after that, probably something to do with the brains that I sprayed across my bedroom wall from the blast. It didn't matter though, hours later I came to with no sign of my attempt save for my matted hair and a ruined bedspread.

I jumped in front of a subway, trying to hit the third rail at the same time but not quite making it. The feeling of the impact with the train was shocking. I could hear my bones snapping over the screeching of the emergency brakes, my limbs mangling in all manner of unnatural angles. The sensation of spilled intestines is not one that the human body was designed to interpret, just a long pulling sensation you feel right down to your ass. I recovered faster from that one, loping away into a tunnel before the MTA crew could stop me. It took me hours to make it home, in tattered bloody clothing missing one shoe. I realized that I'd lost my keys during the attempt, and had to break in to my own apartment.

Just before midnight, I jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge. That attempt was barely worth mentioning. I don't think I've ever felt so cold in my life. It hurt, that's about all I can say about it.

I lay in bed all day today, to stunned to move. Now I'm getting drunk, and even now it still doesn't make sense. My bones knit within minutes, skin heals almost instantly. I'm not a zombie, or that shot through the brain would have done me in. All I can keep thinking is why is this happening to me?

I think I'm being punished.