Ten years ago, I was working a very stressful job. By that, I mean working 14-hours days and still getting work calls after leaving work. On top of that, it was the Great Recession, so quitting or getting myself fired meant I wouldn't find another job for months, if not years. Plus, in my state---the one that almost killed me two years ago---you can't get unemployment assistance if you quit. If you get fired, you'll be blacklisted and pretty much never find another job again. And looking for a new job wasn't an real option---there were no jobs out there. So I realized: the only way for me to escape the job stress was to commit suicide.
Now, the office building I worked in was five floors high, and had an atrium. Each floor above the first had balcony-type hallways overlooking the first floor. (Known as "ground floor" in many countries outside of US and Canada.) There were half-walls at stomach height surrounding the atrium at higher floors, and the ledges topping those half-walls were wide enough for an adult man to lie down on, let alone stand on.
That's when I realized: I can throw myself off the fifth floor and die by falling. One day, I was working late, and there weren't many people around. So I took an elevator to the fifth floor, a place I rarely went to at that job, then carried a chair over to the ledge, and sat in it planning my suicide. (The chair was going to serve me as a stepstool to the ledge.)
That's when I had a dilemma. Should I (A) stand on the ledge, grab my belt behind my back to thwart the SI-driven use of my hands, and throw myself down, to crack my skull and die; or should I (B) lie down on the ledge, stick my hands in my pockets to restrict their use, roll off it, and hit the floor with my whole body, to sustain heavy organ damage and head trauma, and thus die?
Neither panned out. There were still people on the first floor, including the security guard, all of whom were definitely pro-lifers, and they might "save" me before I fully expire. I went home instead, drank half a bottle of rum, and passed out on the living room couch. I called off work the next day, saying I had food poisoning and didn't feel well. (When in reality, it was basically mild alcohol poisoning.)
Now, the office building I worked in was five floors high, and had an atrium. Each floor above the first had balcony-type hallways overlooking the first floor. (Known as "ground floor" in many countries outside of US and Canada.) There were half-walls at stomach height surrounding the atrium at higher floors, and the ledges topping those half-walls were wide enough for an adult man to lie down on, let alone stand on.
That's when I realized: I can throw myself off the fifth floor and die by falling. One day, I was working late, and there weren't many people around. So I took an elevator to the fifth floor, a place I rarely went to at that job, then carried a chair over to the ledge, and sat in it planning my suicide. (The chair was going to serve me as a stepstool to the ledge.)
That's when I had a dilemma. Should I (A) stand on the ledge, grab my belt behind my back to thwart the SI-driven use of my hands, and throw myself down, to crack my skull and die; or should I (B) lie down on the ledge, stick my hands in my pockets to restrict their use, roll off it, and hit the floor with my whole body, to sustain heavy organ damage and head trauma, and thus die?
Neither panned out. There were still people on the first floor, including the security guard, all of whom were definitely pro-lifers, and they might "save" me before I fully expire. I went home instead, drank half a bottle of rum, and passed out on the living room couch. I called off work the next day, saying I had food poisoning and didn't feel well. (When in reality, it was basically mild alcohol poisoning.)
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