The Way Out

It came to me only recently, just a few weeks ago: I think Hunter S. Thompson, Hemingway, Wendy O. Williams (who in class might remember her?) all of the others just maybe were really on to something. Why would someone otherwise successful and apparently secure choose suicide? Why would someone in their 40s or 50s, statistically at the top of their adult and professional games, generally healthy and largely free of clinical depression and other suicide-tending mental problems, choose to end it all? At the age of 42 now, it seems to me like a truly viable alternative, eventually, the ultimate act of choice, the ultimate statement of personal sovereignty. And a simple way to get away from the unending onslaught of ignorance and bullshit that comes day after day after goddamn day.

I can see how someone would just choose to check out, to finish with existence. Me, I've only really come close to taking myself out once, during a particularly stressful period when my first wife had just been diagnosed with advanced leukemia and there were serious concerns about her recovery. Having been married only a few years, and still very much in love and (so foolishly and ignorantly) completely devoted to her, I had some serious thoughts of suicide if she were to die. I sought counseling, and to that mental health professional's credit, I got some perspective and some things to think about that got my mind right once more. The wife recovered, and dumped my ass a year later. Hey, I was the good man, and did what I had promised to do, and that was how she repaid me. End of story.

But now, it's actually looking like a viable alternative. Kill myself this evening after work just because I had a shitty day and don't get that next company trip that they're sending some smarmy-ass youngster on instead? No, I doubut it seriously, and that's not the point here. Also, I've got Scouts with my son on Thursday. But eventually, sometime down the road when I just get tired of all of the bullshit, the frustration, the fear, the weakness and sickness, the slowly accumulating weight of continuing to live? Yeah, it's a viable alternative.

There are days when the desire to get away from it all is huge, just massive. And I mean get away from it All, away from absolutely Everything, forever. I can't bear another trip to work with the endless parade of assholes who dart and cut and speed and tailgate and do everything they can to get ahead by one car length, who race and jockey in their piece-a-shit Dodge Neons and tricked-out dumbass Scions like they're in a goddamn NASCAR race just to get to their shitty jobs because they don't have the discipline to leave five minutes earlier. And then they get belligerent with me when I use my horn to point out their selfishness and outright danger to themselves and others!? I can't bear another wait in the line at the Safeway with the Britney Spears wannabes, the self-important asses so impatient in the express line on their latest cellphone rigs, the gawping oldsters counting out pennies for a purchase of $95.00, all standing in front of me in a line manned by an under-qualified slacker shithead with his goth black under his bright red apron, his ridiculous mascara'd eyes not giving a shit about anything going on around him (and it's not just his put-on attitude either). There are the days when the audit form comes from the IRS, and from the state tax people, when I know I'm not at fault and it's all a misunderstanding that's going to take six full months to resolve, with letter, phone calls, visits, records, copies, all on me because of their incompetence and inability to track information correctly. It's when the goddamn sonofabitch publishers send you collection notices for magazines you never ordered, and you know it's going to take another six weeks and dozens of phone calls to get these rotten bastards off your back, with the bastards threatening collection agencies if you don't pay their extortion. Then the upstairs bathtub rusts through at the drain gasket and has been leaking into the downstairs closet and through the walls to the floorboards and down into the foundation for about two years without you noticing, which will be maybe $25,000 to fix. Then the dog gets sick and the vet bill is $385.00, just for the tests and please come back next for more. And the wife decides to level with you in that she's just not interested in sex anymore 'cause, you know, it's just a hormone thing, part of getting older, you know, so don't be upset or angry with me, okay? And the car oil has to be changed again, with the wiper blades, and it's all 50 goddamn dollars and a wasted Saturday afternoon sitting in the dingy waiting room with smelly people. And the presents for yet another snotty kid's birthday party. And the whiny, self-centered parents at the neighborhood meeting don't think your ideas are any good, even though they never offer any of their own, or even their share of the work when it comes time to actually do something. And two of the trees in the back yard are ready to fall into the neighbor's yard, the guy is such a prick that you know he'll sue if they even bruise one of his flowers, and the first estimate for the work is only $1800. And the wife wants a new bathroom, and her contractor says it'll only be $12,000. That, and she wants to expand the house within the next five years and that's only going to be $180,000. And she bitches when you up your 401k withholding another 5% because you're thinking ahead to the days when you want to be retired, and you want to have enough money to be able to live and eat regularly. And some dumbass minority kid with a huge chip on his shoulder manufactures some hollow racial outrage based on you saying, "Excuse me" as you try to wedge past him on the sidewalk at the subway. And the local shithead kids destroy your mailbox because your house was the local 6th grade teacher's house, 8 years ago. And the $25 you spent on grass seed is all washed away by a thunderstorm the day after you put it down. And the bushes you plant all die in the summer drought. And you are constantly awakened on a Saturday afternoon when all you want for your headache to go away is 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep. When you can't just walk away from it all, because they'll come looking for you, because you have obligations you have to fulfill, contracts with your signatures on them. You can't just say "I quit" or "Do over" because it's all got you ensnared, fully pulled in and splayed open, ready for the knife to come in, gut you, and finish you. There is no escape, not even the simple escape of fun and frolick with the wife, not even with a mistress or two because of the pain and anguish that will be even worse if you are caught by the wife who can't be bothered enough in the first place to set the conditions that can help make it better for you. And a convicted child-murderer escapes the death penalty on a technicality. And another senator plunges into disgrace for graft. And another mother kills her children, and a distraught father murders his children and wife, then himself. And another dozen no-talent morons become stars and millionaires while the needy and the just and the honest and true go hungry, without compensation or praise, without even attention. And children continue to suffer, everywhere. And there is no God, no proof, no sign, no indication of compassion or empathy anywhere, only the selfish and greedy, their obsessiosn making the world darker, more dangerous, more unpredictable, and a place I worry about for when my children grow older and have kids of their own.

So there you go, just a slice, a teeny-tiny slice of the daily assaults upon my intelligence, patience, sanity, peace of mind, sense of purpose, sense of self-respect, sense of right and wrong, sense of justice, honor, pride, and sexual identity. There are those days when I forget the magnificence of a sunset or a sunrise, when I forget that night in Arizona when the moon rose from behind the mountains, and it was so big and so clear that it actually scared me. I forget how great it is to come home to my kids running, arms open, yelling "Daddy!" The crap piles up so deep, so fast, and so unrelentingly, I forget how nice it is to drive home in the dark in the dead of winter, and see that yellow-orange glow coming from inside my house, and smell the wood smoke from the fire inside, and to lie down on teh carpet with the dog and revel in his fur, in the smell of his breath and his raw, absolutely pure rapture at my attention to him.

So, is this cowardly? Some will say that, and there's no way you'll convince them otherwise. Their take is that to continue to stand up to the crap and the insanity is the ultimate expression of self, the ultimate purpose of life. I guess that's noble, but I don't see it as true. The default of human nature is predation and greed, corruption and connivance, the strong over the weak, the whole Lord of the Rings drama. But the good don't always win, in fact, it's rare when they do because the bad guys are better organized and funded. I believe that completely, and it's proven every single day. A goddamn California magnate spends $10 million on his daughter's bat mitzvah a couple of weeks ago, and you want to talk about the nobility and inherent goodness of mankind? Absolutely ridiculous. Life is random, ugly, tragic, capricious, and happens in the blink of an eye, and to fight it is a losing proposition from the beginning. The best you can do is hold out for only a little while, carve out a private space where you can hide for a while, because in the end those walls will fall and it will come spilling in.

So is this eventual suicide noble, something larger than itself? Some will say yes, that it's the ultimate expression of control over one's life, the ultimate statement of freedom. I tend to agree with that, but it's also a one-way trip. No coming back from this one, no do-overs, no way to right this wrong. If done, it's a permanent statement, right or wrong. That much should be enough for the earnest to take note, take heed, and make damn well sure they know what they're doing before they take the, ahem, plunge. But nobility? I really could care less about any of that. If I off myself, it's not going to be about a public statement, other than my being so thoroughly fed up with having to deal with the pain and process of continuing to live.

So will there come the day? Right now, all I can say is maybe. I won't say no, or yes, as both are too final, too direct, and there's too much else to consider at this time. But someday, yeah, sure, maybe. Will there come the day when my children are grown, the wife gone, when I feel no more need to keep it all going? Maybe. Will the desire to just rest, to get out of the way of the steam locomotive of life be enough to get me there? Maybe.

But right now there are two children who depend on me too much, for my income more than anything else. I've got too much to teach them, far too much stuff to cram into their heads and lives before they head out on their own. And even after that, I'll still have things to tell them and teach them. I have things to contribute at work that keep me here. I have a lot more blog subjects to cover and other things to write about, more vitriol and sedition to spread, and there's no way I can check out until I get most if not all of that done. Hell, I might even get the wife to open up her pants this week, so I've got that to look forward to. Or maybe in another couple of weeks or so. That right there is enough to keep me around for another month. There's Christmas coming up, a trip to the Bahamas, my birthday, and my kids' birthdays. I can see down the line at least another 20 years of things I want to be around for, things I want to experience and take part in. Maybe even longer, assuming my kids marry and have grandkids. Then there are more kids to teach and to spoil, and to impart valuable life lessons to, like how to tie a fishing knot.

Yeah, there are a jillion things to live for, just as I rambled out--very quickly and easily, mind you--just a small sample of all of the crap that grinds me down every single goddamn day. Usually the good stuff outweighs the bad stuff, but sometimes that's not the case. But someday there may just come that time, when I'm alone, weak, sick, tired, and just plain fed-up, that I opt for my own determination of my own end. It's my right, after all. It's possible, sure, but not today, not for a while yet.