From the monotonous and never-ending Sunday afternoons, I’ve learned a furtive but efficient way of killing myself.

Hanging has become obsolete long ago. Moreover, it requires too much nerve and involvement. All your lucidity is tested. It implies a meticulous preliminary preparation that can prove to be too exhausting or tedious in the end. And you may change your mind, meaning that you’ve failed.

A shot in the heart doesn’t apply because you have scantly medical knowledge and you aren’t so sure about its location. Blowing out your brains is out of the question. It’s too much of a Hollywood-like cliche, it makes a mess and besides, where from are you going to get a gun? And you don’t even know how to use it properly…

Cutting your veins involves as much mess. And you cannot decide what to use: a razor blade or a knife? You wish you could ask someone all these questions but all those experienced in this field are obviously dead. And how should you cut: straight or obliquely?

Swallowing a fistful of drugs has no attraction to you. Merely the hearing of the word ‘drug’ makes you feel sick, and then you don’t even know what type of drugs is more appropriate: soporifics, sedatives or painkillers? The thought that you have to go to the corner drugstore and ask that fat and suspicious woman questions about it makes you give up.

Jumping from the window of your flat sounds tempting, but what if you fall over someone else’s head – the hazard is a misunderstood god – and instead of your own person, you kill another. You couldn’t psychologically stand a murder accusation. Now you’ve remembered that you’re afraid of heights.

Jumping in front of a train or a car seems to be a lack of good manners. After all, you wish to put an end to your own life not to mess up others.

Realizing all this and giving up using one of these methods because of their impracticability, I’ve learned another one, easier and applicable. Moreover, it saves you from the trouble of writing the farewell note. You don’t know what to write, anyway.

Therefore, I’ll start by giving up doing some ordinary things. For example, I’ll gradually give up riding bikes or going up in the close air of lofts and attics; I’ll give up passing through narrow corridors; I won’t use lifts and escalators anymore; I’ll give up watering flowers, catching butterflies, lighting candles and so on.
Now, I’m right in the middle of the suicide process. If it happens to see on the streets a man who turns back at crossroads or who’s afraid of riding bikes, of lifts… you’ll know it’s me, trying to kill myself.

I don’t visit the sea anymore, I don’t sing, don’t laugh, don’t cry. I’m giving up some words every week. Already Mondays I’m almost completely dead. I don’t turn on the lights, don’t open the doors, don’t write anymore, don’t