Sam Paul - Why I Committed Suicide

There’s a restaurant and gift shop about a mile or so underground where park rangers sell all kinds of tourist shit in the middle of a big cleared out cavern. I thought it was tacky and cheap exploitation of Mother Nature so I stole an official Carlsbad Caverns penlight to vent my angst. Then, surprise of surprises, Jenifer and I ran into one of her old roommates from when she had her apartment on Stella down in Cement City. One of the same roommates that sent me in to see Jenifer fucking Kristoff that one time. Phaedra and her boyfriend Johnny were there with her family on vacation. Of all the weird places to run into an old roommate that stiffed you on some bill money, I would have to wager that a mile underground, 600 miles from home, has to be one of the most unlikely. When Jenifer and I are together the laws of chance and physics bend to incorporate us. We said awkward hellos and exchanged pleasantries and then departed, marveling at the astronomical odds and remembering what jerks they were.

When we finally reached the surface again and drove down the lonely desert road out of there I couldn’t help but look at the desert hills as if they might crack open like an eggshell at any moment. So much of what we actually perceive is such a surface illusion. I had to go down to appreciate what was on top. It’s all wayyy too much like life.

Since it’s so close, we’re going to squeeze in seeing Sand Dune National Park too. Personally I’m not that enthusiastic about seeing a lot of sand, but if it’s inspiring enough to be a national park then there must be something worthwhile and interesting about it. Hopefully it won’t be a lot of drunken rednecks on four-wheelers. I’ve always been more interested in the water than the sand on the beach so I’m at a loss to explain what people do with sand when there is no water there. Maybe play volleyball? Do you think the other park rangers make fun of the guy in charge of sand dunes at their annual park ranger meeting? “So, Earl I heard you got that forest fire under control in Yellowstone finally and Carl you’ve kept those wild housecats from pooping on your dunes right? Ha ha ha. Excellent work gentlemen!” Seriously though, I’m just looking for an excuse to extend our vacation this time. I think we both are. We’re tired but this is our last big trip before the spring semester swamps us and we needed the together time to bond. Like Bob Dylan said “If you’re not busy living, you’re busy dying” right?

“Plucked his eyebrows on the way, shaved his legs, then he was a she, said hey babe, take a walk on the wild side.”

I am home again, which fills me with a feeling of relief but also an underlying melancholy. Here I am back in my own microcosm of familiar surroundings and I have achieved a satisfied place in it. I’m settling back into home life routine but I’m thankful there are still a few more vacation days left before school starts. Maybe staying busy with work and school is what I need to stay happy for a while. I’ll let pointless busy work replace the idleness that lets my mind brood and hope it works out better than before.

I’m just kind of sad for no reason at all. Even having symptoms of clinical depression doesn’t mean I want drugs to treat it. Jenifer and I have both become jaded and we lean on each other when the feeling of being boxed in by the world is too much. We want to understand our depression not just make it go away. For some reason God and genetics created my mind to have a cynical view and perceive things differently than Joe-Blow frat boy and I can’t dismiss what I think and feel as being mere symptoms of a disease. If I were gay my feelings wouldn’t be treated as a disease (anymore) so how is this any different? Does that even make sense? Maybe it makes me gay, I don’t know. Jenifer and I are both smart and we’ve taken psychology classes and I’m even technically a manic-depressive, but what the hell does that really mean? Who cares if I don’t want to get out of bed and go to school or work because I’m depressed? Not my boss or professors. Is God trying to control the population by inserting a suicide clause that activates whenever a certain number of McDonald’s restaurants go up in any given neighborhood? I guess I’m asking for answers that are not even defined by logical or legitimately proposed questions.

Who am I to complain that I exist? What gives me the fucking right and audacity to be a thankless bastard? Maybe I should take the Zoloft and be chemically happy and balanced, but right now I would rather die than be a robot. It just seems more natural, more normal, almost like leaving it up to fate to take my chances with reality. Their drugs take away my depression and worthlessness but also my passion, creativity and true enjoyment when things are special. Having quirks and problems gives me inspiration and helps me grow to overcome obstacles. I’m not ready to let government-regulated drugs take care of my insolent thoughts. Although when the big problems come along I might have to reconsider. Life or death? Awake or aware? Aristocrat or plutocrat? Decisions, decisions.

Sorry, I even said I’m feeling melancholy huh? What’s weird is that I’m happy and sad at the same time. I think I’m sad because I want something more than I have but I can’t identify it close enough to make it an obtainable goal. A dissatisfied happiness? If I don’t know what’s missing then it could be anything or everything and what kind of fucked up situation is that to be in? Am I really having a twenty year old midlife crisis? It’s enough to make me reconsider my values and I’m thankful for that because at least introspection puts me in touch with a higher power and reminds me of what’s important. There is no God on anti-depressants. I’ll repeat that for the parents and pharmaceutical companies; unlisted side effect: There is No God on Anti-Depressants. No fucking morals either. My brain thinks about killing somebody and nothing is there in my head to tell me that killing is wrong when I’m taking Zoloft. How fucking scary is that? How many millions of people are out there right now thinking the same fucking thing? It only takes one.

Right now Jenifer is the most important thing in the world to me. I have to stop and gnash my teeth together when I think about how much I love her sometimes. I sense she knows my intensity and maybe even feels the same way but my attempts to communicate the depth of my feelings just look silly and worthless to me. There is no gift or trifle to symbolize the depth of my passion. I just pray she understands.

We are dirt poor but so happy in our run-down house. I’ve got great friends; Dan and I are getting closer as our interests overlap. Jenifer and I are truly part of a strange family. We all live together, work together and look out for each other. We even bond while doing drugs together. I can freely smoke pot everyday and feel safe in my home doing anything at all. My relationship with my parents is more tolerable than ever and my little sister is growing into a good friend. Hell I even get regularly laid and have more than the occasional vacation with the love of my life. So everything is great right? People pass me in the street and say “How’s it going?” and with a glint of my teeth and click of my heels I automatically reply “Great!” But as I write this I still feel like something is missing. I don’t think my life can (or will) get any better than this and I really don’t see any way to keep making it exponentially better. There will always be little things to work for of course, more money and overseas vacationing come to mind, but I doubt material wealth will ever make me feel any more complete. I’ll be able to say that I’ve got a lot of money and opportunity but inside it will still just be me. I’m worried that I’ll have high school football player syndrome, where I constantly look back and regret that my favorite time of life has already passed on. Gone. I don’t want to look back and wish I were still here and I don’t want to look back and wish I was still where I was. Capishe?