67 days left...

I am an idiot.

My mother came to get some of my laundry today since I sprained my ankle and can't really walk properly, so I just gave her the clothes I had worn the week before. Then I suddenly realized (like two hours too late) that I had left my suicide note - the one I included in yesterday's blog, in my jeans.

So the last few hours I've just been sitting here in my room wondering if she found it, which she probably did, and if so; wondering how she reacted to it. I mean seriously, what could be worse for a suicidal person than to have the people around her uncover her plans before they're executed (pun not intended)? This is even worse than a failed suicide attempt! It's a suicide attempt failed in such a degree that it hasn't even happened yet! I am such an idiot.

I feel obliged to tell my readers that because of this I have taken serious measures. Supposing that my mother found out, if she comes to talk to me about it and takes it seriously - not thinking it was some kind of stupid joke, I will be killing myself that same day. I simply can't risk her having me put in some institution where they'll "keep me from harming myself".

So if this is the last day I write this blog, you know why.

Thanks for reading, all!



Tania

68 days left

Seeing as how I'm going to be spending some time in bed with my foot on a pile of pillows, I decided I might as well spend this otherwise wasted time doing something useful. So I already started writing my suicide letters.

Here's one I just wrote for my mother just now (go easy on me, it's a rough draft):

"Dear mum

I left you three voicemails today and you still didn't answer. I am tired of being ignored by you so I decided to kill myself.

Your daughter,

Tania."

And there I'll be, dead besides it. I know many people won't understand this, but my mother has the greatest (and I mean the greatest) sense of humor; and if she turns the letter over it will say:

"Sorry, that was my final joke to you, cause I didn't want to leave with a tear, but with a smile. Note that I didn't kill myself because of you, of course, so no frowns!

Love

Tania"

*Sigh*

I'm still working on it though.

69 days left...

I sprained my ankle pretty bad today.

Now, for the record, I'm not the type to go crying when bad things happen, but truth be told I've been crying my eyes out for the last few hours. Not so much because of the physical pain of the injury though, cause even though it's really severe it's nothing compaired to the emotional and mental suffering this incident has brought me.

I am now facing the prospect of having to sit at home and do nothing for days, maybe weeks, that's right, weeks; that's how bad I may have sprained my ankle. And every time I walk I have to use crutches now. Crutches! And now I also have to have X-rays taken of my foot to make sure nothing's broken. I think I probably broke my entire foot, cause that's just logical, it's Murphy's Law; which is kind of the only law my life seems to abide by religiously.

God, I wish I was dead already.

Sadly enough I made a promise to you readers and due to it I will be alive for 71 more days, crutches or no crutches. So curse you all, cause my life just started sucking a whole lot more.

Everything just sucks.

70 days left...

Today I changed my mind.

All of you who have been reading my blog for a while now know that I have always been of the opinion that people didn't really matter, we're not really special, suicide doesn't really mean anything, etc. etc. But I had a revelation today, and due to it I changed my mind.

I do matter. I am special. I am a 'beautiful and unique snowflake'! And I feel great about it!

Seriously, the more I think about it the more I know that I do contribute to this world, that I do have something to offer and that I will be thoroughly missed if I would actually kill myself. I mean, just to sum up a few of my qualities: I take care of my little sister, I write prose and poetry, I draw, I sing, I've acted in amateur feature films, and I've even directed one of my own - which I never really finished but still. I'm adding a clip to this blog from the movie I directed, to showcase my talents, lest I be called a liar. :p

So yeah, I am a multi-talented and valuable individual. I no longer feel worthless, I no longer feel empty.

Don't get my wrong though, I'm still going to kill myself, cause life still sucks. I just feel better about it knowing that I'll be missed. :)

71 days left...

You know how it's strange that when you think about a certain something long and hard enough, you start seeing clues and references to it everywhere? I have the exact same thing with the whole suicide deal. I swear that every single day I see or hear someone speaking out against suicide or referring to it as this unspeakable act of heresy.

Today I walked by the train tracks where a 14 year old kid had committed suicide exactly one year ago. There were flowers and poems scattered on the floor, some swept away by the wind, some trampled by other people. There was a church's flyer there too, which stated plain and simple that Eric (the boy) would not be allowed to enter the gates of heaven due to his blasphemous act.

Maybe I'll just kill myself with my little sister's crayons when I finally do it, make it look like she killed me; then I'll get to go to heaven and she'll take the fall. Punked! :p

Seriously though, as I was saying, if there is a God - which personally I highly doubt - he is obviously trying to rub it in, but I'll be glad to give him the finger in 72 days. Heaven is overrated anyways, and hell can't possibly be 'much' worse than my life.

72 days left...

Sometimes I wonder how I'm going to keep my readers entertained for so many days before I actually take the plunge. I mean, it's not like something interesting happens every day here and most of my days actually suck, so that's kind of an inspiration killer.

But then again, maybe it's better you guys get bored of my slow paced and utterly boring trip towards the grave, cause if no one reads my blog anymore, maybe I can just get it over with already. That's right, you guys are what's keeping me alive for another 72 days, so pat yourselves on the back for being philanthropic.

In any case, Brad send me flowers today. How cliché is that, right? I told him I didn't want any flowers right now, but that if he really wanted to give me some, he should wait 72 days, and then he could bring me fresh ones every week, lol. He didn't really get it of course.

Call me cruel but I love cracking jokes like that. Like the other day my philosophy professor told me that since I had skipped half of his classes already he wasn't going to allow me to take my final exam. I replied that if he didn't change his mind by May, I would kill myself because of it.

Which is totally funny cause now he'll think it's his fault when I kill myself.

Serves him right.

73 days left...

Another day in the life of a walking dead girl. *Ponders what to write.*

Today was the day of ironies, actually. Brad e-mailed me again this morning. He had this very lengthy way of saying that he felt our time together on Valentine's Day was very special, and how he felt we really connected. He eventually concluded (to make a long story short) that he was in love with me.

Can you say emo?

Seriously though, I just replied that I'm too busy to go out now but that I'll probably have time in 74 days, when my work will be over. Tee-hee, he's got a surprise coming there.

Besides that, the second irony is that my little sister got a cast today, apparently she broke her wrist during her school trip, she's been crying all day but luckily she's asleep now. We share a room together and I kind of look after her when I'm not too busy blogging or writing poetry. Anyway, the irony of this is that her cast is coming off the week after I kill myself, and she asked me today to promise that we'd go play mini-golf then (she loves to play that game).

I promised her.

But I'm going to have to break that promise.

So, if you read this after I'm gone, Sarah, you go and have a good game of mini-golf without me, and remember to swing from the shoulder.

I went to see Sweeney Todd today with a couple of close friends.

It was a pretty good movie, all in all, and I can't help but love Depp's character in it. The only downside is that I don't have anything else to watch in theaters now, since everything else kind of sucks. The only other movie I was looking forward to was The Dark Knight, the absolutely orgasm-tacular looking sequal to Batman Begins (even if just because I'm a complete fangirl of The Joker.)

Needless to say it broke my heart when I found out that the movie's release date was July 18, which is quite some time after I will be dead and buried. Stubborn as I am, I will for nothing or no one change my date of death, so I decided to change the date of the movie's release. I have spent my day today trying to contact Warner Bros. per e-mail and telephone, I've tried contacting the agents of Christopher Nolan (director and producer), Emma Thomas (producer) and even Aaron Eeckhart (who plays Harvey in the movie) to beg for an earlier release date.

Everyone I got on the phone or reached per e-mail I explained my story to, told them that I was going to end myself in 74 days and that seeing that even some convicted criminals get a last wish before their execution, I thought it only fair that they would change their release date for me to still be able to watch the movie; since I'd really, really like to see it before I died.

Two of the people I got through to thought it was a joke, the other threatened to call the police and the last just very politely declined. But this is far from over. I just got a partial credits list of TDK from a journalist, it's a list of everyone who is involved with the production and distribution of the movie; and I'm going to start contacting them all tomorrow.

The Dark Knight will be released before my death, I will see to that!

July 18? Over my dead body.

75 days left...

Here's a short piece of prose about my death, so bear with me, I personally think it's great but I can hardly judge my own work. I just love writing about it, like I can already experience being dead and seeing everyone sad, it feels purifying somehow.

"Daylight pines away in the night's gentle embrace.

The horizon blazes against the night sky like a funereal pendant as the sun slowly drowns in darkness. In this twilight one can barely make out the mourning crowd, shrouded in their fancy blacks, tearstained faces burried in their hands. A chanting of sobs ripples through the otherwise silent air. My mother and father are kneeling in front of the open casket, their strength having flowed out of them alongside their tears. Everyone who has ever known me is gathered here today, and no one is spared the sorrow. The food and drinks are served as per custom, but not touched. My old teachers, particularly the ones who've always been against me as a student, are now turned away now so no one would see them cry; and the feeling that this is what they deserve uncoils like nausea in the pit of their stomach. My friends welcome their depressions, and everyone knows that this is the blackest of days. And that at least for now, God has forsaken them."

I wrote this short piece of prose about my funeral. I was thinking of including it in my will for them to perhaps read aloud when it actually takes place. The most sane thing would actually be to have my little sister do the reading, since she's too young to be very traumatized by it all, so she'll have the least problems with it. Either way I guess it's my way of leaving my last piece of art behind as well as my vision and wishes for the funeral itself, but I'm not entirely sure if they'll appreciate it or not; my parents have never really taken an interest in my writings.

I do hope to have a grand funeral either way though, and I think I will have one.

76 days left...

You know that feeling you sometimes have when it seems that no one understands you?

That's the feeling I have today. It's the feeling I had yesterday, and it's the feeling I'll have tomorrow and every day thereafter until the awaited moment of my grand exit. No one understands me. Period.

With this statement goes, of course, an anecdote. I actually tried to take up an old hobby today, namely photography. I dusted off my old camera, injected it with a clean cardridge and went biking through our neighbourhood's Chinatown to take some pictures. I spent two hours roaming around snapping views and arty compositions (only to find out an hour later that all my pictures sucked, which was a huge disappointment) and then decided I wanted to have some people portraits, so I started asking around for volunteers.

Now not only were the people I asked uninterested in me, they also pretended not even to speak English; they'd just give me that toothpaste smile of theirs and nod their head whatever I said. Eventually I just told them I was going to kill myself, flat-out, and none of them so much as had the decency to respond with anything but "No speki Englesh."

The world truly doesn't care. The world truly doesn't understand.

76 Days to go... seems like an eternity.

77 Days Left...

Dear diary. Today sucked. The end.

If there weren't this many people reading my blog, that's where today's chapter would end; but since I suppose I can't disappoint my readers I'll force myself to write a little more. Basically, I had one of those days on which everything seems to work against you. It rained, my internet access got cut off for hours, I broke a nail, ran out of coffee and missed my bus (all in one day), so forgive me for wanting to curl up in a corner and sob, I think I have good reason to.

Seriously, I'm not emo, but on days like these it does feel good to play some Arcade Fire on maximum volume and coil yourself into a ball under your sheets and just sob it all away. I don't care what people say, but crying is very relieving in my opinion. It's almost like yoga, only more expressive, which means it's just better per definition.

Anyhow, it's been decided that I will be wearing "dress" number 5 on the day of my suicide. Ironically it's the lingerie my mother wore on her wedding day, she passed it on to me because she thought it was special I guess. Wonder how she'll react if she'll find me dead in it in 78 days. Maybe she'll feel just a shred of the discontent I'm experiencing now, in fact I hope she does, then at least someone will understand me.

Okay, the votes are in and the polls are closed! Soon I'll be posting a video revealing which dress I chose, so stay tuned voters.

Anyway, I know I still have 78 days to go, but I've recently been thinking more and more about how I'm going to commit the deed. The most important thing to me is that it doesn't hurt. If I go out, I would like to go out with what I would call a "quiet bang" (quiet for me, though a 'bang' for my family and friends). Yesterday I actually found myself talking about suicide with my little sister, we had just seen Dead Man Walking and we were discussing what would be the most painless way to die.

She's just a kid and she doesn't really have the same concept of death as I do, so to her this conversation was just a bit of fun; but I was actually really considering every idea we brought up, so that was kind of awkward. Anyway, my sister, brilliant as she is despite her young age, was of the opinion that skydiving without opening your parachute would be the best and most painless way to go.

She was so cute when she said it, and it actually makes a lot of sense, it has to be an awesome way to go... You see the whole world below you, just before you die. It's funny how if I kill myself this way, she'll only then realize what our conversation was really for.

I'd love to go out that way, but I would feel guilty about it now that my little sister is the one who brought it up, she'd be traumatized if I actually stole her idea.

I attended class today, just like I normally would.

It's rather odd, come to think of it, taking notes and actively participating in a course that I will be leaving unfinished when I pull the plug in 79 days, but as I said before I will live my life as I always have until that day.

One of my friends told me today that I was the best friend she ever had. She was in a downer about her boyfriend breaking up with her and I guess she just needed a shoulder to cry on. I borrowed her my copy of The Black Parade, told her it would cheer her up and she should just listen to it before going to bed. Haha.

Seriously though, I really find myself being emotionally more distant and callous, knowing that I will be gone with the wind in 79 days, even though I know I should care about my friends and the impact my suicide will have on them. What's funny though is that my elder sister is expecting a baby in less than three months; and she's this very spiritual person, she's into astral projection, tarrot reading, reincarnation, the whole shebang, so if I die around the same time she gives birth to her little one, she'll probably think it's me.

It cracked me up before I went to sleep last night.


P.S.: someone e-mailed me saying that I should bang the German guy I mentioned yesterday, who still lives with his mom, because he probably doesn't get much pussy and his life might suck. I'm considering it, but I won't make any plans or promises yet.

80 days left...

It's strange if you think about it. How every day I cross out a square on my calender, confronting myself with the fact that I'm getting closer to the day of my suicide one X at a time, and I still don't feel the slightest hint of fear or regret.

I do want to thank all the people who are mailing me again though, especially the ones who are trying to stop me from going through with this; they're really great entertainment. One German guy mailed me this morning saying that he would like to bang me one last time before I kill myself, and videotape it if I didn't mind. He also added if I would "kindly not kill myself in his house" because he still lives with his mother...

I hardly have time to read all the mails though, so I usually just skim through them (sorry for anyone I haven't replied to!) What I do find hard to understand is that only one (albeit big) tv station has contacted me so far! People have been telling me not to kill myself, but honestly it seems like the world couldn't care less; I publicly announce my own suicide and the media doesn't even glance at it. I mean, it's all over the news if a terrorist blows himself up on a market in a suicide act, but when an innocent girl threatens to take her own life she doesn't even get a moment's attention. Quite bizarrre.

Not that I'm an attention whore though, I'm not one for camera's and spotlights, but it did strike me as odd. Oh well. Life's too short to be worrying about things like these I suppose; especially for me.

81 days left...

I skipped my classes today and hung out with a friend I hadn't seen in a while.

Called her up around noon and we just went driving until we found a nice spot to just sit and reminisce. But sitting in the car, I couldn't help but imagine what it must be like to die in a crash, like if the car in front of us just braked all of a sudden and we'd smash into it at 40 miles per hour. I think it would actually be rather painless, provided you don't surive it in the first place.

On that topic, I saw something pretty funny today, it's a book holder you can mount on the steering wheel of your car, allowing you to read while driving - which the manufacturers of course discourage, but what have I got to lose? Only my life, right? Okay, bad joke. Anyways, I still think it's a pretty alluring idea to go down in a car crash while reading your favorite book, letting fate decide where you crash and what the last line is you'll ever read.

*Sigh* Look at me, already becoming a romantic and there's still 80+ days to go.

Would kind of suck though if I use the book thing to kill myself and end up dying in the middle of reading a sentence, just when the story's getting exciting. It would also be quite ironic if I die trying it out; while I've still got months to go on the blog. Oh well, if you read anything in the news about a girl who died in a car accident, with her head in "The Catcher in the Rye", you'll know what time it is.

82 Days Left...

Sooo... I went out with Brad for Valentine's today, Brad is evidently not his real name, but I'll call him that in the blog to not have to use his actual name or refer to him as "this guy from work".

Our date was kind of peculair to say the least. He's kind of cute and he's definitely intelligent but like twenty minutes into our conversation he started telling me about this younger brother he had, who committed suicide two years ago when he was 14; talk about an ironic subject. Apparently it was a pretty big thing here since he went about it by jumping off a building in the middle of the city in broad daylight. Brad kind of just kept repeating how devastated he was that his brother didn't even leave a letter or anything. I seriously thought he was gonna cry at one point, but thank god he didn't. No one likes a crybaby for Valentine's. ^^

It got me thinking about my final act though. Jumping off a building seems like a quick and painless way to go, and I honestly can't believe I hadn't even considered it yet. I would've thanked him for the inspiring idea, but I suppose that would've been a real conversation killer. I actually joked to him about if he would be devastated if I killed myself too, he said he would be, but my guess is that that's just sweet talk. After all, he doesn't even know me that well yet.

Anyhow, enough about emo Brad. I need something cheery for a change.

*Listens to My Chemical Romance.*

Picking the dress

Go to http://suicide.movielol.org for more info.

Today I'm picking out the dress I'll be wearing in 83 days from now when I'll be doing the deed. And you can help me pick through this video I made.

Leave comments on the YouTube video (just click the video) or mail me at taniaderveaux@movielol.org to let me know what your choice is.

Go to http://suicide.movielol.org for more info.