Well, its difficult to explain.
I was in psych ward once, reflecting on all the non violent methods Ive tried (various ODs, and recently wrist slitting) and how they proved ineffective. And I remember this thought going through my mind for absolutely no reason:
'You need to jump off a bridge. Theres a bridge on the way to your english class. Do it'.
And so I proceeded to get up, go to the nurse station and tell them when Im out Im gonna jump off a bridge.
And when I was released I went to this bridge. Gazed at it, and at the water. For a very long time. And since then, I knew it is how my death is supposed to be like.
Over time, I developed more reasons to stick to this method. My morbid obssession with deep water back from the times when my dad punished me by holding my head down in the river and drowning me when I was a little kid.
The violence of it, the idea of breaking my limbs, my spine, almost like I didnt deserve a peaceful suicide, like I needed to be hurt.
And here I am, wasting my disability paychecks travelling to some sketchy little towns on the country border just to give myself a go trying to jump off tallest bridges in the country. I literally made a short movie clip on my phone of me dangling my legs off a 30 something meter bridge, this is the first day that Im home after the journey.
This is so weird, I know.