[ WP ] Someone threw himself under my train today . I want to know more about him , to be able to put a story behind his face . Tell me who he was .

I keep thinking about the tracks. Every time I'm there, I keep thinking about the tracks. 
 
 It would be fucked, would n't it, to inflict that on someone. I would take a step forwards and fall, and the wheels would run over the tracks and bisect me like an earthworm. The driver would see, in slow motion too quick to stop, a human being falling in front of their train. The other passengers would see the blood. They'd hear whatever sound a human body makes being crushed into pieces. A thing like that could traumatize someone for life. 
 
 But when it comes down to it, I do n't really care about them, do I? Not to the extent that I would let them prevent me from killing myself. I could go privately. I could buy pills. I could - I could probably not buy a gun. I could take a plastic bag and secure it around my neck. I could - I could probably not slit my wrists. 
 
 Because here's the funny part - I'm scared of blood. I hate getting shots, I hate getting pricked, I hate paper cuts. Just the - the loss of integrity of my bodily borders. I am bleeding, I am bleeding all over the place. I'm exposed. My bubble's been popped. Everything inside me is coming out and I'm losing myself. So that's what I tell myself when I look down at the tracks. Maybe it'll hurt. Maybe I wo n't die. Maybe I'll be conscious the whole time and feel the wheels grind down over my arm and feel it crushing flesh and bone and I'll be spurting blood out everywhere and I'll be alive, I'll still be alive bleeding out on the tracks with everyone screaming and looking down at me and I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life. 
 
 Maybe that's what I want. 
 
 I'm not suicidal, not in the conventional sense. Life is not unbearable for me. I'm not seeking an escape. I just have never wanted to be alive. I'm just devoid of joy or longing or friends. I do n't know what it means to love another person. I do n't know what it means to connect with another person on any level whatsoever. I'm a simulacrum of a human being. The god that made me forgot to turn something on. 
 
 I keep thinking about the tracks. Whenever I'm more than three or four stories high, I feel a magnetized pull to the balcony railings, I want to tip over them and go plunging down and land on my head. And just like the tracks, maybe I survive. Maybe I land wrong and shatter my legs and lie there alive on the ground, and when my parents bend over me in the hospital and cry and whisper'why,' what am I going to tell them? 
 
 Mom, Dad, I never loved you? I do n't think I know how? I'm sorry you raised a cuckoo, a changeling, a folded-over piece of paper instead of a child? 
 
 The tracks are thick and grey and discolored. Their surfaces are rounded, smooth. I could imagine lying against them and feeling their curve. They would be cool. They would be comforting. I'd find the place they rested right against my spine. The train would come, and the wheels would spin like sawblades. It's a pit down there in the tracks. It's like they want you to jump in. 
 
 Maybe I need to bleed. That's the allure of it. I would tear myself apart, and maybe something worthwhile would come out. Just a single act of violence. I'm entitled to that, right? People die every day. People kill themselves every day. It's no great sin to expose some people to that. It just happens, that's all it is, it just happens. It's nothing personal against you. I'm sorry you had to see someone die, but it happens all the time. It's just a little bad luck on your part. 
 
 It's just railings. It's just rails. It's that metal edge, the border. It's a moment of crossing over. 
 
 I'm not unhappy. I'm not suffering. I'm just so tired of being myself.
