Apotheoses

I died yesterday. It was different than I expected. I’d seen all the documentaries about approaching the “light at the end of the tunnel,” and countless stories of people at the point of death, seeing their life flash before their eyes. True, most of these experiences were “near death” experiences, as they had not succumbed to fate’s hand. But the stories of those who were truly in peril, in extremis, the small gap between this life and whatever awaited them afterwards, all had something in common. Death reeked. It was an entirely alien experience for them. But not to me. There was something tranquil about accepting annihilation after spending days, no, more like weeks of deliberation. Even after convincing my brain to comply with the decision, the anxiety caused tremendous resistance. When it came down to it, I had to force myself to go through with it, attempting to trick my mind into thinking it was going to be alright. But I’d try to face mortality with dignity. I understood I would die eventually, but I would choose to go on my own terms. I wouldn’t get a refund for leaving the act before the finale, but the development of my story suggested I wouldn’t be missing out on anything important. I would just be extending my miserable life. For me, I had already done the research into how I could achieve a painless demise. Just an overdose of sleeping pills, and I wouldn’t suffer in my sleep. After everything I’d looked up, this seemed to be the most pleasant solution. I spent hours staring at the bottles I’d purchased from the previous week, knowing I had procrastinated my end for longer than I could bear. There was no reason I should further torment myself by my growing anxiety and restlessness. Just get it over with.You’ll be dreaming and then...nothing. In the unlikely event there was an afterlife, getting to see what happened next excited me a little. Finally, I faked my courage and downed the pills with some water-eight times the amount it should have required to end this. I put on my headphones and flopped on my wonderful bed. People always asked me if I had a best friend, to which I would usually answer “no”. The truth is that it had to be my bed. Hell, I’d spent a third of my day with it for years now, and it gave me comfort beyond words. I’m normally really frugal with what little money I have, but I had invested a decent amount into a good night’s sleep with an extra thick king-size mattress with some “state of the art” foam padding-not that I understood the technology. It was my source of alleviation, something that any medicine couldn’t provide. So, I’d be dying with my best friend. Good thing it wouldn’t miss me. Not that that really bothered me. People aren’t different. They pretend to care, but they can’t possibly mean it. Otherwise, how could I be here all alone, allowed to let this happen? I had a nice playlist of my favorite songs that I arranged a few days ago for this moment. It was a mix of songs I’d enjoyed over the years. I would have liked to have eaten my favorite snacks as I laid there in silence, but I had really thought this through. I wasn’t going to put anything in my body apart from the sleeping pills. I’d read that people relaxed their organs and muscles as soon as they died, causing them to relieve their bowels. So, it would be gross and just plain rude if I left a mess for whoever came to clean up my body. It had been almost two days since I’d last eaten and my stomach was beginning to gripe at me. My tiny apartment was perfectly cleaned out, organized meticulously and my belongings were boxed up. In truth, that had only taken a couple hours. My place looked like I was about to move out. Part of my brain was screaming at itself to do something while another part laughed at it, but overall, I was comfortable going through with dying. I was already tired when I took the pills, so I couldn’t tell if they were taking effect or not; regardless, I was getting drowsy after half an hour. I anxiously waited, growing bored. So this was it, huh? I didn’t leave any note behind for anyone to read, mostly because I didn’t know what could be important enough to write. I think the message was clear enough without words. Although my method of leaving this planet was rather dull, it was quick, painless and safe. Too safe, I tell myself. Maybe that’s why I didn’t actually die. I mean, I should have. But here I am, still alive, after somehow waking up ten hours later. I have a massive headache and I feel groggy from when I woke up, but I’m absolutely alive. At first, I thought this was the afterlife. Now I’m sure it isn’t, after looking at everything left exactly as it was when I went to sleep. I turned on my laptop and checked the daily news. No, this was very much Earth as much as it was yesterday. My phone has an unanswered message waiting, but I ignore it. I’ve been communicating with people less and less since last month. How am I not dead? I examine the bottle’s description, checking for the warnings. “Do not exceed consumption of four tablets within a 24 hour period.” This wasn’t some weak drug from the store either. I had to buy this through the online black market from a reputable seller. This was a heavy prescription from a doctor intended for treating insomnia. I looked up the details online again, rubbing my head. Apparently somebody’s sickly grandfather in serious agony couldn’t get permission from the doctors to terminate his life, so his family purchased the pills from the same online merchant that I’d used. Their review commended the seller for supporting a painless exit, that it had caused no harm. Eight pills was all it needed. I looked at the bottle again. If I’m still alive, my body should be in anguish. I should be at the hospital, getting my stomach pumped from the poisonous drugs. But I feel pretty normal. I go to the bathroom and flick on the light. I can see my reflection perfectly in the immaculate mirror, as I glance at the sparkling countertop and appliances. A tall, brown-haired man is looking back at me, mimicking my hands as I stroke the stubble on my cheeks. It’s been a few days since I’ve trimmed, and I didn’t want to make another mess. I turn on the sink faucet, and splash water on my face. I look at the mirror closer and study my face, checking to make sure that I’m really still alive. My bright green eyes peer over me, and I notice the little scar under my chin. I determine that it would be pretty pointless to have flaws in the afterlife, if there was one. I wet my disheveled hair and try to comb it straight, but it flops back into its original mess like it has a mind of its own. My beige skin looks a little more pale than usual, but I haven’t really left the apartment much in the last month. Other than that, I’m perfectly myself. Still Ellis. I take a deep breath to sigh. Now I’m even more distressed that I’m somehow alive, and that I’m going to have to make this more difficult. For a moment, I contemplate my entire life and it makes me angry. I snatch the near empty bottle of pills and throw it hard against the wall. I can’t do anything right. I can’t even kill myself right. I give in to my stomach’s demands and make a sandwich from a box of packed food. Then, I sit back on my bed and consider my next options. I didn’t expect this to not work. What else can I do? I don’t own a gun...and I doubt I’ll be able to acquire one anyways. If I was going to do this correctly, I needed to make sure there was no chance of surviving. No half-assed way. Part of me is relieved that I’m still alive as I’m scarfing down some food. I decide that I’ll have to jump off a building. My anxiety grows, and I breathe heavily since heights have been a crux to my fears. I guess this has to be fate, since I’ll have to overcome my greatest fear before I die. It’s a real shame though, since I’m going to create a real mess for the public to have to see. I laugh out loud for a minute. I’m about to die and I’m still more worried about everyone else. I put on my music and start researching what high structures are going to be available to the public. There’s an observatory tower open until midnight close to where I live in Southern California. I can go at the last minute so I don’t bother too many people. I should go early in case something gets in my way. 12 floors up and over 120 feet tall...this puts me at over a 99 percent chance of death. Even 84 feet should put me at a 90 percent chance, but I’m not risking the 10 percent of survival. What does 120 feet look like? I open some videos of people base jumping off cliffs and buildings and my heart skips a beat. My hands are perspiring. I’m gonna need some alcohol to do this. I’m not even sure I can do it now. But I have to. My life is absolutely miserable and there’s no going back. Alright, I’ll leave in a few hours. I rip off my clothes and take a hot shower. I feel better once I’m done, and in fact, I feel better than yesterday. I want to put on something nice, but then remember whatever I’m going to wear is likely going to be thrown away. I should at least wear something different though. I’m not one to believe in the supernatural or mysterious entities; however, I’m not going to chance that what I was wearing led to my bad luck. Or would it be considered good luck? I compromise and put on a dress shirt with some tattered jeans. The next few hours consist of surfing on the internet and spending the day like any other. I didn’t need to go to work-I’d lost my job a couple months back. That wasn’t the main reason I was doing this though. It was just a thread on the canvas of problems. The afternoon slips by slowly as I pretend to forget the grim reaper is standing beside me the whole time. I decide to leave early and grab a few beers at the store before heading into the main city where my final destination awaits. If I had a second best friend, it would have to be my little ’96 Toyota. She’s held up with me for years now and has gotten me everywhere I’ve needed to go, although begrudgingly at times. Other than my bed and my car, I have no friends. Of course, I had some acquaintances that I spoke with every once in awhile, but no one really knew who I was. I get to the store and pick a 12 pack and some other snacks. I still have a couple hours to get the job done, but I drive where I need to be first. I see the observatory in the distance and I get to the parking lot which is nearly empty. 10:15 P.M, June 28th. I kick back the seat and down a few beers and munch on some chips. I look up at the night sky and think about everything as I have been over the last month, like rewinding a movie over and over. I still haven’t checked my phone even though I used it as a GPS to get here. 11 o’clock comes by and my heart rate increases. I’m really drunk at this point, and my vision is fuzzy as all hell since I’ve downed most of the drinks. “Alright, let’s get this over with,” I tell myself out loud with some encouragement. I get outside my car and move towards the building sheepishly, waiting for a stream of traffic to pass. I approach the stairs up to the doors where another group is already entering. One, two, three, four, and five steps, then I’m moving inside. I amble through the doorsteps and let the group ahead of me take the elevator first without following. I didn’t want to hinder anyone else. I wait for the elevator to come back down and take it all the way to the top alone. When I get to the top, I see there’s a few others besides the group that came. It looks like a double date of some happy looking adults in their twenties. I’m a bit jealous, and I approach the edge where only a fence separates me and my departure. Yikes, I’m gonna have to climb over that and fall over 120 feet. I still have about an hour to muster the courage, and I’ll try to wait until nobody has to see it. I watch the group loudly talking as they move around the perimeter of the enclosure. It’s really a sight to behold as I scan over the city, even spotting a couple buildings I used to work at. Even while being so intoxicated, I appreciate the architecture and engineering scattered about the landscape along the mountainside. Humans sure suck, but they can do some pretty amazing things. After a few minutes, I’m all alone on the roof of the observatory, sitting on a bench and yawning. I should have been dead at this time yesterday. Now it’s definitely over. I sluggishly approach the fence, ignoring the warning signs. I look down, and my hands are trembling. Still, my brain is hazy and I instinctively climb up until I reach the top. I throw one leg over the side and straddle the fence, balancing myself with both hands. I feel a surge of cold wind blow by me and I sway back and forth. Despite my nervousness, the alcohol is taking its toll as well as my fatigue from staying up all day. Maybe those sleeping pills were finally kicking in. I shake my head, thinking how absurd it would be that I somehow survived only to now feel its effect. I’m starting to get really dizzy, unable to think clearly. I lose my grip on the fence and I teeter over the edge. Just before I pass out, I feel myself falling and see the blurry street below rushing up to meet me.