You're gonna need a bigger support group

Dear 40 something year old man who jumped in front of the downtown N train at 42nd street and broadway on March 16, 2013 at 8:15 in the morning:

I caught a glimpse of you that morning, jumping.  Hopping really.  It was pretty much the last glimpse anybody was ever gonna catch of you.

I wasn't as close as some people, like the black lady who screamed, or the other black lady that kept yelling "Hello" to you down on the tracks as the train was on top of you, or the hispanic lady that keeled over holding her head and looked like she was gonna be messed up for a while.

It took me a bit to realize what had happened.  It really hit me when I saw the other people on the platform; the way they were reacting.  I was actually looking at them a lot, even more than I was looking at the train.  And the N train just stopped and stood there for a while with the doors closed.  And the people inside the train were looking at all the messed up people on the platform, and then they started to be messed up.  It started to creep up on them that something bad went down.

Me and my buddy stood there on the platform in silence.  Tears in our eyes.  Shook up.  Nothing to say.  When my buddy finally talked, he said something about "Where was God in this man's life?"  Basically saying that if God is in your life, you don't commit suicide.

I just want you to know that I don't hold anything against you.  I'm not mad at you for what you did.  You had no idea that you were going to mess me up that day.  You had no idea at the pain you were going to cause me that day, for days and days and days to come, and for the rest of my life.  Pain on top of pain.  Guilt on top of guilt.

I don't know what to say, but I know that I'm not saying some things that some people say.

And this is for you.  It's worthless, but it's for you.  It's all I can do.  Nothing.  Nothing.

wtf? lol, rothflmfaoyfmf

Ratatonic part 2

Yes, sure... Why do you ask?

How can you tell you're dead?

Because I don't live.  I just occupy space.

But don't a lot of people feel that way?  I felt that way.  Now you do, and I'm sorry for that.  But you know, looking at this from a fixed point of reference; existence exists, right?  You exist.  Others exist.  You co-exist.  Isn't that so?

But you're talking to me.  And I'm listening to you.  And you're dead.

Wow...

And why the Marion Cotillard thing?

You brought it up.  It's named after her.

Things People Say to Cheer You Up

Things people say to cheer you up after your loved one commits suicide:

"You were a loving spouse / parent / child / sibling / friend."

"I'm so sorry.  Words cannot express how I feel for you."

"You're going to get through this.  You'll see."

"If there's anything ever that I can ever do for you ever, just let me know."

What you actually hear when they say those things to you:

"Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"

"Duhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

"Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm"

"Kill yourself.  Kill yourself.  You should kill yourself.  Kill yourself."

Less Likely Suicide

They say places with fewer guns have fewer incidents of people shooting themselves.

Maybe I should move to a place with fewer bridges, subways, razor blades, exacto knives, sleeping pills, ropes and cords, bed sheets, garages that house internal combustion engines,

                                         Less rat poison.

                                    Yeah...

Ratatonic

                Let's talk about what you're pissed off about today.

                           Not pissed off totally, just frustration as usual.

                                    About?

                               Well, everybody knows you're dead.

                                         yeah?

                     Yeah, but nobody knows that I'm dead too.  They don't realize it.

                                  They don't realize you're dead?

                                     Right.

                                  Are you dead?

                               See, even you're not clued in to it.

                                   But you're not dead.  Are you?

                    Yeah, uhuh.  I've been dead a while now.  Almost four years.

                                   Me too.  Wait a minute.

                                    What?

                    Are you saying you died when I died?  Something romantic like that?

       Not romantic.  Hardly.  And I'm not even putting a specific date on things.

                                   You always were bad with dates.

                            But I can just tell that I'm dead.  I am dead.

                                How do you know you're dead?

    Because I'm not really living.  I don't live anymore.  I just am occupying space.

                          Do you think Marion Cotillard is beautiful?

Continued in part 2