Dear reader, I hope you know that as I write this, I write it all with the folling in mine:
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t either audiblky, or mentally say to mysef — some sort of wording of, “I need to kill myself.” Iut’s. IUh. Some sort of “cross to bear.” Maybe. I don’t know. In the grand scheme of things. It’s. You know. Nothing. Because. I’ve gone some. nearly 11 years without attemptiong to do such a thing. Even though, the thought == or maybe even desire — continues to persist.
Could there be some sort of “triggering” event that sends me over the edge? I mean. Sure. I’m not a seer. Even though I’ve pretended to be in the not so distant past. but I mean. I’ve been through a lot in the merly, 11 years. And. I haven’t spent a day at Cedar Sporings since!
The point here is. If there is one. You know. DIRECTLY. HERE.
The suicide rate in America has sky rockted. Kinda. I mean. Just a quick google search of “american suicide rate statistics,” result with a quote for wikipedia:
On average, adjusted for age, the annual U.S. suicide rate increased 24% over the 15 previous years (1999 to 2014), from 10.5 to 13.0 suicides per 100,000 people, the highest rate recorded in 28 years. In 2009, suicide was the seventh leading cause of death for males and the 16th leading cause of death for females.
So. Yeah. There’s a problem with suicideds.
I think. It’s pretty much a law these days. Whenevery ou mention suicide in America. You MUST now include the Suicide Prevention Lifeline information. Which. You know. Isn’t a BAD thing. It’s just. God damned annoying.
I was, legitimately, reading a, LEGIT, news article. About the death of Chris Cornell. And. At the end of the piece. There was included. Information about suicide prevention.
The Chris Cornell thing. Fine. It. You know. Atl east makes SOME sort of SEMBLENCE of sence. Right? Here’s a guy, with fans, who killed himself. Right? And. You. You kow. Don’t want his fans to follow in his footstep. With mourning. Or whatever. You don’t want them to commt suicide.
I seent this shit.
So. Sorry if I spoiled things for you. But.
TheAMEZING series. That is. Better Call Saul. It ends. With a suicide. And it’s just PERFECT storytelling. Forreals. PERFECTION. But. Hey. We can no longer tell PERFECT stories about suicide without needing a little disclaimer. OBVIOUSLY?!
Now, look man. I know I’m complaining abot THE FIRST of “first world problems” here. But it’s just. Seriously annoying. And really. I don’t know why this whole thing started. Or when. Or how. But. I’ll take a stab at it.
DISCLAIMER: The word: “stab” was used metaphorically. RyansDrunk.com is in no way suggesting that you should stab yourself in order to comit suicide.
You see. The summer of 2014 happened. Most of America were watching movies such as 22 Jump Street, The Amazing Spider-man 2, Edge of Tomorrow, Guardians of the Galaxy, The Expendables 3 and X-Men: Days of Future Past.
Meanwhile. One of America’s (and hell… the word’s [ISIS INCLUDED, do that researc, forreals man]) favoriste comedian. Robin Williams. Decided. To. You know. Commit Suicide.
Since then. You know. Rorshac h from Watchmen. His joke came to life. And we all, in America, started taking suicide serielsouly. Or whatever. And since. I know you need this referesher.
“Heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says, “Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. Says, “But doctor…I am Pagliacci.”
Basically. it seems as if after Robin Williams did what he did (NEVERMIND THAT CHRIS BENOIT SHIT~!)… we’ve alkl of a suffen ned to take note about each and ever case of intentional, persononal homicide.
Forreals. THE best noval I’ve ever read. Was. Ofg course. Written by Chuck Palahniuk, It was called: Survivor. Apparently, it’s going to be made into a netlfix series. Somehow? Maybe? I don’t know. Either way. There’s a part of the story. It deals with this subject matter. Quite a lot. Hell. The whole book. Kinda. Sorta. is ALL about this. You know.
But. Therrs’ a portion of the book where the main character, Tender Branson, who is a part of a suicide cult. He desides hes going to start a Suicide Hotline. GHe posts his phone number throuought all of the phone boths in the city. You see, it was written in a time where cell phones didn’t exsist. Kinda. And like. Brandon. He would tell everyone that’dcall him. He’d tell them: Kill yourself.
And he’d listen. To each and every one of those callers.
He’d listen as they took their final breaths.
Just… read the book for further details, right?
I just can’t imagine reading that PERFECT fucking book. And having to deal with some sort of dumb ass warning label at the end: “HEY GUYZ GUESS WHAT?! DID YOU KNOW YOU SHOULDN’T COMMIT SUICIDE?! DER DEH DER?!”
In case you’re wondering where the title of this rambling comes from…
“Suicide is Slow with Liquor.” It all has to do with… you know. This.
Damn it. I mentioned it again.