[ WP ] Suicidal people can choose to `` gift '' remaining years to other people on Earth .

I have the feeling that I've been here before, on this exact spot, in this exact place and time, but I know for sure that it's déjà vu at best. Do n't get me wrong, I know I've been in similar situations before. I mean, there was that time with the pills, and that time when I was sitting in my car, with the garage door closed. Oh, and how could I forget that time with the oven, funny how such things turn trivial as time moves on, though I did n't know it was electric, at the time. But I know for sure that I have never been in this place before, as today is the first time that I actually feel courageous enough to go though with my plan. I can see that I'm confusing you, so let me just start at the beginning. 
 
 My life has n't always exactly been the easiest, but I guess the series of events that brought me here, started around year five in school. When I was around ten years old, I collapsed while playing outside with some friends. I still remember that bizarre experience of playing ball one moment, and falling down the other, having lost all feeling in my legs. It felt like someone suddenly flipped a switch somewhere in my brain, and turned off my legs. I was rushed to the hospital, of course. I must've fallen asleep at some point, or I simply forgot, but the next thing I remember is lying in a bed, with a doctor poking needles in my legs. He then took my parents into the hallway, and a few moments later I heard my mom scream hysterically. My dad walked back into the room with tears in his eyes. 
 
 It turned out I have a rare autoimmune disease that targets my peripheral nervous system. In short, my body attacks its own nervous system, resulting in ( partial ) paralysis, or worse. After a few weeks in the hospital, and several dozens of tests, they told me I was one of the lucky ones. After weeks of rehabilitation I was finally able to walk again. I was sent home. I do n't think I ever saw my parents so happy, my sister was literally crying when I walked through the door. I felt like I was invincible. Even now, after all those years, I sometimes wish I could relive that moment just one more time. 
 
 Unfortunately, it turned out I was n't exactly invincible after all, and every few years or so, my immune system would kick into overdrive again, and the whole story would repeat from the beginning. Falling. Hospital. Rehabilitation. Falling. Hospital. Rehabilitation. An endless cycle of hope and despair. I never was much of a learner, but I missed so many days in school that my grades plummeted. I barely saw my friends anymore, as I could n't play outside, even in my better days. Especially going through puberty was hell, though because of my wheelchair I got treated quite nicely in school, so I had that going for me. Though as a more or less permanent wheelchair-bound teenager with little to no social life, I could have probably starred on the cover of *Troubled* magazine. 
 
 The depressions started around that time as well. Whole days went by when I could do nothing except lying in bed, alone with my thoughts, and feeling powerless. Staring into a black pit of uselessness, having no desire to do anything at all, and feeling like all the joy and happiness in the world had been sucked out of me. Even as puberty made way for adulthood, the depression stayed. In fact, I think it got worse as years went by. My parents, my sister, probably knew. I realised that they took extra care to be nice to me, to try and make me feel happy, and somewhere deep down I appreciated their effort. I did n't show it, however. In fact, the more they tried to engage with me, the more they tried to find a way to make me feel happy, to make me feel me again, the more I pushed them away. 
 
 I first tried to commit suicide when I was 21. I had just had another episode, and though I managed to walk again after an especially gruelling period of rehabilitation, I felt more empty than ever. This time it lasted for weeks. Weeks in which I wanted nothing less than to just step out of life. Leave all of my misery behind and be done with it all. One night, I decided to empty the medicine cabinet, took a bottle of whisky to wash it all down, and lay down to die. 
 
 I woke up in the hospital the next day, having apparently made a full recovery. This time, however, there was no party. And though I thought I could see some glint of happiness in the eyes of my father and sister, the emptiness my mother left overshadowed it all. She found me the previous night, just in time, and... Sigh, I guess it's no use dredging up the whole past. I think it's sufficient to say that the events threw me into an even deeper depression, and no family, nor professional help, could save me from it. 
 
 I died the year after. Well, technically speaking at least, I was gone for a few minutes. My dad was the one who died instead. One moment I was sitting in my car, my favourite music playing, my eyes glazing over as the sweet carbon monoxide fumes entered my car. The next moment I woke up on the couch in the living room, with the lifeless body of my dad besides me. I guess he came home early that day. 
 
 I felt so, so selfish after that. My parents had loved me, had literally sacrificed their future to save me, and I could n't live with that guilt. I wanted nothing more than to scream out, to curse the heavens and all that dwelt beneath them for this damned life that was given to me. Wanted nothing more than to give it back. Instead, for these past few years, I have continued to live, lived without looking back, because I am afraid afraid that the moment I do, I see my parents standing behind me. And the sad thing is, I know they would n't mock me, I know they would n't judge me. No, they loved me too much to do so. Instead, they would probably smile that damned supportive smile of them, and tell me that it is all okay. That it is all going to be fine... 
 
 The problem is, I know it's not. The past days, I have had this increasing, familiar sensation of numbness in my fingers. My left leg has been asleep for the past week. Deep down, I know that this time, the paralysis will not go away, nor will it be contained to my legs. I have tried... My god, have I tried to live, but this is just too much. And so I drove to this bridge tonight, and so I'm standing here on the railing, not allowing death to creep up on me, like the last times, but looking him straight in the eyes. The dark waters below already ripple and rage, a thousand arms, waiting to embrace me. 
 
 I feel my parents' eyes look upon me, but I do n't want to meet their gaze. I think I hear them calling me in the distance. If I look back I'll back down. No, I let go. After an excruciating moment of doubt, I let go. 
 
 A familiar feeling of helplessness returns to me, but I feel more alive now than I have in the past years. The approaching darkness below beckons me, promising that this time, I wo n't wake up. Its icy grip pulls me closer. I find myself smiling, for the first time in god knows how long. Peace at last. 
 
 Somewhere in the distance, I hear my sister screaming my name...
