Suicidal in Heaven – A Journey of Choices

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My body is not at home anymore, it’s in the trunk of an ambulance. It was a troubled moment, my mother insisted of following the body, and became desperate when she was told it wouldn’t be possible. Finally, desperation took the form of its classical manifestation, and she began to scream and cry, and insisted she wouldn’t leave her baby alone. She threatened those who tried to stop her, and it took three people to contain her, but no one was able to calm her down. In my spiritual form, I understood why she was behaving like that: in her mind, while I was there, if she caressed me, crying beside me, there was a chance I would come back. If I was taken away, that chance would disappear, I’d be dead forever. At least, that was her understanding.

I was already dead, but convincing a mother her child took his own life is no easy task. It’s not easy for a mother to accept her baby won’t be there anymore, it’s an inversion of the natural order of life. And, yes, I know I’m the only responsible for that. Don’t worry, I’m being punished for my actions and, not only I have to see everything it’s happening, I’m feeling what my parents are feeling, and the pain parents feel when they find their son is dead is indescribable. Even now, before them, I still feel their pain.

At least, for now, I can’t see them, and in my current state I try to find any good news. After spending a whole life seeing the cup half-empty, death forced me to change my point of view, and the cup began do look half full. Not seeing them prevents me from seeing my mother crying, being comforted by people I hate. I also can’t see my father pretending to be strong, trying to keep the house functional, but going to the bathroom from time to time to cry. It’s a small price compared to feeling what they’re feeling and knowing they’re going through all of this because of me, but it’s all I got. So, I grab on to it, because it’s better than nothing.

I wonder I would hell give me something to fell less afflicted, feel less pain. It shouldn’t happen, I should spend the rest of eternity suffering because of my final attitude. Not that I’m not in pain right now, but it’s definitely less than I should. It doesn’t make any sense. The only explanation would be if this was some sort of sadistic joke, to give some kind of hope just to take it away. I think maybe hell isn’t so terrible, only to find it’s way worse than I thought. That makes sense, but, for some reason, I don’t believe in it. Something doesn’t feel quite right. But it doesn’t matter, because I don’t have to think about it now. I have all eternity to think about it.

I leave that thought aside in the exact moment the ambulance stops and the trunk opens, and I see my body being pulled out. I know people are doing it, I understand the logic of hands pulling the stretcher. What I don’t understand is how the living can also pull my spirit, because as they carry my body, my spirit goes along with it. When we were at home, I had freedom, there was no need to be by my mortal vessel, now laid thanks to two deep slits I’ve put on my wrists. At home, I was able to drift away, now, I’m connected to my body. I go where it goes. I’m sure I’m tied to it, even though I can’t see the rope. It leaves me quite fearful, because, being a suicidal, I’m doomed to suffer for all eternity, and if I lost my ghostly freedom, it’s because something that’ll make me suffer is about to happen.

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