That's the end. Elliott's day. The day I intend to join him. Unless grandma is still around. That is the day that I'll be half his age on his death day.
I've decided that hanging is not my favourite method, because if you do survive that then you're even more brainfucked then you were before; for life.
Sleeping pills aren't such a bad idea; relatively painless, relaxing more or less. Melatonin won't do the job, so I'll have to steal some of Dad's pills. I know it'll be a few seconds of panic, right as I'm going under, and I'll be praying for someone to find me. But, it won't happen. It'll be for the best in the end.
Shooting, obviously, isn't an option, as I haven't even got a gun.
Stabbing as a tribute to Elliott could be one little addition. I ought to memorize that autopsy sketch, so I know right where to do it. I could practice.
Jumping is an option, but not a pretty one. I want to be presentable in death if I can help it.
Cutting my wrists open is another one too, but it's not even a 50-50 chance of succeeding then. Not too clean (unless done in a bath of warm water to speed up/clean up. It's just not very efficient, if you ask me.
Swallowing poison of other sorts, other kinds of od's, just aren't really as practical or atractive for me.
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A change of plans.
Get sleep, take your meds, grow up, stop being a drama queen, think of things in perspective, don't follow in his footsteps, you can love him without being him, be yourself, alive, happy, and free. He chose is way (probably) and you have nothing to do with it. Don't obsess. Let tired souls rest. Don't join them just yet, not until you're sure you've seen the best that this life has to offer in return for all that you've been through, and cherish what you've learned.
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