I decided to end my life.
Just like that. No drama. No farewell letter. No TikTok video of me crying about how unfair life is. None of that. I've simply had enough. I've been very patient.
And it's not like anything particularly tragic happened. No one dumped me. I didn't walk in on some imaginary girlfriend screwing another guy. My dog didn't die. I didn't get fired. Or worse: my grocery bag didn't break on the way home. Nope. I just got tired.
I've spent over a decade pretending to care about this tragicomedy everyone insists on calling "life."
I've lived like any other normal person. That was my mistake. I'm not normal.
They told me I had to study, so I studied.They told me I had to socialize, so I socialized.They told me I had to work, so I worked.They told me I had to pay taxes, so I paid taxes.They told me to smile in group photos, so I smiled.
I followed the basic etiquette of daily life, like saying "fine, thanks" every time someone asked how I was doing—even if I felt like a steaming pile of crap. And generally, I pretended everything made sense. I really did try. Honestly. I gave it my best. Well… something close to my best. Maybe it was just resignation.
Maybe I didn't try as hard as I thought I did—from my point of view.
Every now and then someone would ask if something was wrong, if I was sad, or bored, or whatever.
Could they really tell that nothing around me actually mattered to me in the first place?
Well, doesn't matter now.
All that time, I clung to this pretty little illusion—almost poetic—that at some point, I'd get used to it. That one day I'd wake up with the conviction that this absurd life was actually worth living. That I'd finally feel that thing the overdramatic poets of the 19th century called "happiness."
Long story short: it never happened.
So today, May 20th, 2025, while I was walking home like another mindless automaton with earbuds in and my eyes in airplane mode, the idea just landed in my head. It wasn't an epiphany. There was no divine light shining down on me. Not even a message in the clouds. I just thought: "What if I die today?"
And you know what? It sounded good. I loved the idea. It made sense. Like when you're looking at a menu full of stuff you hate and suddenly—bam—fries. "Oh hey, yeah. I'll take that."
Didn't hesitate. Why overthink it? What was I gonna do? Compare methods? Read reviews? Watch tutorials on YouTube? Nah. Too much effort.
I just put on a sad playlist on Spotify to set the mood.
I went up to the rooftop like someone going to hang laundry or check for signal. I looked down. Closed my eyes. And jumped.
And for the first time in years, I felt something real.
The wind hitting my face, gravity yanking me down like it had been waiting for me to finally make a reasonable decision. From below, some pedestrians started screaming—like they'd never seen a functional adult treating himself to the little luxury of quitting life.
So dramatic! Let me enjoy my moment, damn it!
I was getting closer to the ground and, I swear, I felt a flicker of peace. A strange peace, like the kind you feel after handing in a test you had no clue about, but you submit it anyway just to keep your dignity. I thought: "So long, shitty life!"
Life flashed before my eyes, like in the movies.
What kind of movie was my life? Not one of those tragic childhood stories. Not a redemption arc. Not a feel-good comedy full of laughs. Not the kind where a cold-hearted bastard slowly discovers that killing people helps him fill the emotional void, so he becomes a serial killer.
No. The movie I saw was one of those low-budget, plotless films. Just the dull monotony of day-to-day existence. A normal life.
That's the problem.
My brain wasn't built for normal. It doesn't respond well to the stuff I'm supposed to enjoy. Everything bores me, exhausts me, or feels ridiculous. Maybe I'm mentally ill. Maybe the world's sick and I'm the only sane one. Either way, standing at death's door... it doesn't really matter.
I stopped thinking about it.
My body hit the concrete, but unfortunately for me, that wasn't the end.
I don't know if I bounced, if some awning broke my fall, if a fat pigeon cushioned the impact, or if some sarcastic god decided my ending wasn't entertaining enough yet. But there I was. Fully conscious. All bones intact, though my ego took a slight bruising.
And you know what was the first thought that popped into my head?
"Well. I can always try again, right?"
Of course! Let's do it again! Maybe the exit button was just bugged.
It's just that this time... dying wouldn't be so easy.