I stare at the instrument of my freedom. Metallic. Shiny. Sharp. Price, one dollar. This is it. Last Act, Final Scene. After this, the curtain comes down. But there will be no thundering applause, no final bow. I didn’t manage to piss off people that much. I look at my wrist, the collapsed veins dark and hard from years of junk abuse. My eyes wander to the puncture wounds in my forearm and the heart tattooed on my upper arm. Me and Jim both got that tattoo 5 years ago. Different times. Happy times. Poor Jim. I told him never to share his works. I still see him at night, his body withered, his spirit broken. All those infections battering his weakened body. All those drugs couldn’t make up for his non-existent immune system.

I place it on my wrist. The little almost-rectangle of metal. It feels cold. I feel cold. Detached. As I slice into my own wrist. I expected it to be smoother, I pictured a knife cutting through butter. But my skin is tougher than butter. The blood hacks through skin and vein, and immediately the blood starts flowing. As I continue to cut deeper, and deeper into the flesh, tearing through muscle and ligament, ignoring the sweet sickly smell of warm blood and the thousands of nerve endings in my skin screaming in pain, I picture myself using a metal file to cut through the bars of my own personal prison. Hack left. Hack right. The blood is gushing out like a geyser now. I’ve reached the artery.

It won’t be long now. I leave the blade sticking out of my bloody, mutilated wrist and lie flat on my back. I barely notice the pain. With the amount of adrenalin rushing through my body, It seems like I’m having an out of body experience. I’m euphoric, beyond caring, happy at last. Nevermind that it took slitting my wrist and lying in a fast spreading pool of my own blood to get here. I imagine the blood washing away the years of pain and suffering. The guilt, depression and fear that have kept me imprisoned for so long finally start to melt away. Is this heaven? Am I dead already? I look down to see my breasts dutifully going up and down, albeit erratically. My heart is struggling to pump enough blood to keep me alive. With the amount of blood that’s already flown out of me, it won’t be long. I don’t envy the person who has to clean up after me. That job’s gonna be a bitch. Long suppressed memories of joy and happiness fill me. Was this really my life? Maybe this is what those near death experiences are all about. Maybe they mistake this for the afterlife. Or maybe, these few seconds of euphoric freedom, maybe this is heaven.

My upper brain functions begin to shut down due to lack of oxygen. Soon, there will be no thoughts, no pain, no me. Only Peace. And I feel fi….