text: I’ve decided that tonight is the night I’m going to kill myself. It’s time to finally say goodbye to the world. I’ve thought about how I would do it so many times. I decided that pills would be the easiest option. I considered trying to get a gun, but apart from having no idea how I would go about that, I’m far too squeamish for it. Knowing my luck, the bullet would just blow my face off, leaving me horribly disfigured in addition to being eternally miserable. No, pills are easily obtainable and I can fade away in the comfort (if you can call it that) of my own home. I’ve done my research and know roughly how many paracetamols I’d need to do the job. It’s been an effort tonight; nowadays you can only buy two packets at a time. It’s a small town and I’m almost running out of shops. I know of another two chemists, but they aren’t walking distance. I return home, get in my car and drive over to the first one. As I pull into the carpark I see the sign, ‘Closed due to emergency’. “Dammit!”, I shout, thumping my foot against the accelerator, tyres squealing as I leave. I get to the last place and it's open, thank god. I make my way down the aisle, looking up and down at each shelf. My heart sinks as I see an empty space where the paracetamol should be. A store assistant must see my anguish as she calls out “I don’t know when we’re due anymore in love, there seems to be a shortage just now!”. I nod weakly, and head back to the car. I think about other pills that I could take but I haven't done any research and again, knowing my luck, I’d end up seriously fucked but still very much alive. ************* I’ve woken up feeling quite opposed to pill taking as a means to an end. The setback last night made me realise there are just too many unknowns with that option. I decided that the best way might be to jump off the Tay Bridge. I actually considered it a while back, and being me, I did my research. I know the right spots to do it fairly undetected, and the right time of night to go. As I get ready to leave, I make sure the flat is looking tidy. I know people will be in here at some point after I’m gone and I don’t want them looking down their nose at the state of the place. I consider writing a note for whoever turns up, but I don’t know what to say. I guess the fact I’ve done this to myself says quite enough. I get in the car and drive; the wind is howling and I have to fight to keep the steering wheel steady. As I reach the bridge, I’m confronted with a sign, ‘Bridge closed due to high winds, diversions via M90’. I pull the car over and sit there in silence for a long time. After a while I start to cry, and begin the drive home. ************** I feel at a loss. Perhaps someone up there is trying to tell me something. Well, if they are, my life is still pointless so I won’t be changing my mind. I walk to the local shop, my mind racing. There’s a busy road I need to cross to get there and as I stand on the edge of the pavement the lorries and cars whizz past me at dizzying speeds. I glance over to the zebra crossing further up the road and see a couple standing together, laughing and joking with their two young children. They don’t seem to have a care in the world. I think back to when I used to have a family and that familiar raw pain hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest. I squeeze my eyes and fists shut, and start to psyche myself up for what I need to do next. As I begin to count down slowly from ten, I’m startled by the sound of shouting. I look up and notice the child out of the corner of my eye, running past the zebra crossing and across my path. It takes me a second to realise what’s happening, and with the screams of the parents ringing in my ears, I race without thinking into the road and grab the young boy. In a split second I’m aware of the horn blaring ahead of me and the truck roaring down the road towards us. I push the boy hard towards the pavement then everything goes black. ************* They’ve given me something for the pain. I’ve been out cold for a couple of days but I’ll live. The paramedics worked hard at the scene to bring me back, I’m told. How ironic. At least the boy is ok - the parents came in earlier to thank me, said I was their hero. I don’t feel like a hero. I still feel like the same coward I always was. I look around at all the wires and machines surrounding me. If I could move, maybe I could dislodge some of this, make it stop saving me. Although I don’t actually know if I have it in me anymore. It shouldn’t be this hard to kill yourself. As I contemplate my future, the ward door swings open and a familiar face appears in the room. It takes a minute for me to realise that it's my daughter Rachel. She comes over to the bed and I can see she is pregnant. “Hi Dad’, she says tearfully, taking my hand. We talked for a while, about how the hospital called her as my next of kin, how the thought of losing me had made her scared, how she wants me to meet her family, how all of the fighting just didn't make sense anymore. As I listen to her talk, I realise I don’t want to say goodbye to the world. Today is the day that I choose to keep living.