I Was Here(57)

             The first step is obvious. I’ll have to post something on the boards. An opening, like Meg’s. Something that introduces me to the group, announces my intentions to kill myself, couching those intentions in a question. If I’m too sure, if I’m already shopping for rat poison, I won’t seem like a mouse.

             It takes me several days to come up with something, and then I get stuck thinking of a username. Everything I want to use is related to Meg, and I don’t know how much she told him about herself, so I don’t want to give myself away. I glance at the overdue stack of library books and use them as inspiration.

             Kafkaesque

Opening Salvo

             I’ve been thinking about catching the bus for a while. I think I’m ready to buy my ticket. I just need some encouragement. I’m worried about my family and not succeeding, and let’s be honest, succeeding. I’d welcome intelligent thoughts.

             As soon as I post it, I regret it. It sounds fake, nothing like me, and nothing like a suicidal person. I fully expect to be called out as a fraud by everyone on the boards. But the next day, there are several responses. As with Meg, most of them are so nice and encouraging—Welcome! Congratulations!—which, in an odd way, is gratifying. Except All_BS isn’t among the responders. I might have fooled some of these people. But not the one I’m looking for.

             I switch usernames and think of Meg’s post about Scottie and try again.

             CR0308

Survivor

             I have been thinking very seriously about taking my life for several months now, but what’s held me back is my mother. It’s just her and me, and I worry about what it’ll be like for her if I’m gone. Can I live with myself? Will I have to?

             This one also smells of bullshit. It’s not entirely accurate to say Tricia didn’t want me, because she did keep me. It’s more that I don’t think Tricia wanted children. What mother makes her two-year-old call her by her first name because she says she’s too young to be called Mommy? I know Tricia would probably be pretty bummed if I killed myself, but I also know she’s looking forward to having me out of her hair. She tells me this on a regular basis.

             I get a bunch of responses, some of them telling me that, yeah, it’s a pretty fucked-up thing to do to a single mom. That maybe I should wait for her to remarry or something. Which makes me laugh. Tricia can’t remarry until she marries, and with her three-month-relationship shelf life, I can’t see either of those ever happening.

             There’s nothing from All_BS. I have this weird feeling that as long as I lie, I won’t get a response. Which is kind of a catch-22, because how can I do this without lying?

             I pick a new username, something vaguely Meg-related—the Pete and Repeat—but ambiguous enough not to be tied to her. Instead of trying to channel Meg, I try channeling myself.

             Repeat

The Truth

             I recently lost someone. Someone so integral to me, it’s like a part of me is gone. And now I don’t know how to be anymore. If there’s even a me without her. It’s like she was my sun, and then my sun went out. Imagine if the real sun went out. Maybe there’d still be life on Earth, but would you still want to live here? Do I still want to live here?

             The next day, there are a bunch of responses, though not one from All_BS. Some of them are weird scientific explanations of how unlikely it is for the sun to actually go out. Others are more understanding of my loss. Others yet suggest that if I were to die, I’d be reunited with the person I lost. They are so certain, as if the Final Solution people have visited death, taken notes, and come back to report. I’m reminded that for so many of these people, this is a kind of entertainment.

             But I am starting to understand the appeal of the boards. Yesterday when I hit post, I felt this massive sense of relief. This whole thing might be a charade, but for the first time in a long time, I am telling the truth.