Many years later, I will surely recall that suicidal dusk.
That was a cold winter at the end of the semester. I lay alone on the desk in the classroom, watching the movement outside the window, my hearing sensitive enough to catch the emotionless, rapid footsteps of the teacher in the building opposite. A low tinnitus hummed like the faint chirping of cicadas. Occasionally, I would suddenly hear a massive noise, causing my hands and feet to curl up into a ball inside my sleeves and clothes, lifting my heels as if fearing a lethal current on the ground. My fingernails dug forcefully into the arm of my other hand; judging by the pain, the wounds caused were no less severe than knife cuts. My gaze stabbed from an extremely low angle toward the back door, the direction the sound came from. Sure enough, the teacher in black clothes walked past, like a sharp blade splitting my heart in half from top to bottom. My whole body trembled uncontrollably, the stool and the floor grinding out a noise. Fortunately, that person walked past. I stared at the direction where he disappeared for a long time, finally calming down slightly.
This morning, I specially brought a bottle of yogurt. First, I dared not drink from the holy water boiler used by classmates. Second, as far as water is concerned, it simply cannot cancel out the bitterness of any drugs or chemical substances—of course, referring here to drugs or chemicals with a suitable ratio of lethality to acquisition difficulty for suicide. Ordinary milk, under the formation of medicine powder grinding against the inner walls of the pill bottle and dancing within the oral cavity, is simply insufficient to protect the bitter taste buds of my tongue and tongue base. I could only silently endure the endless numbness, endure the dryness as the water was sucked away, feeling a blockage as if my nose had been stuffed with shit and the suffocation of my throat being strangled. And due to the size of the pill bottle cap, to finish one bottle, I had to divide it into many times, otherwise it would be very bitter.
I couldn’t hold on; I started to grip my stomach with my left hand. Under gentle pressure, the pain seemed to alleviate somewhat. But the most fatal thing was the kidneys, that is, the position of the waist. The kidneys were like willful children throwing a tantrum and refusing to work, or the overbearing Chen Sheng and Wu Guang, seemingly screaming and jumping while tearing open my body. I had to droop my body very low, very low, as if there were two swords constantly piercing through my waist.
This wasn’t even my first suicide. I wasn’t even sure how many times I had attempted suicide by overdose at the end of that semester, yet I never went to the hospital once. Magical, isn’t it? But this is what I personally experienced.
I stumbled up from my seat holding the wall. A wave of black dizziness invaded my brain. After barely standing firm, I had to walk away immediately to avoid being discovered by classmates as abnormal. I darted quickly behind the door, my hand leaving the wall, walking like I had just learned to walk—one step, one step, one step, one step. My body was hunched, yet my eyes were fiery like a seven or eight-year-old child. My habit of holding handrails when going up and down stairs probably started from then; even if the handrails are rusty, just accepting it is enough.
I never thought the way downstairs would be like this.
I fully believed I could control my own legs, but reality played a big joke on me. I clearly managed to control myself to walk such a long distance, so why did I lose the strength to support my body right here? I had the spirit to issue commands to my legs, my brain was very clear, I could feel the existence of my legs, and I could control my legs, but why did I still almost fall on the stairs? I thought I could release one hundred percent of my power, but my legs were so disappointing? I suddenly somewhat understood the feeling of paraplegic patients; you think you can control it, but that is fundamentally two pieces of dead meat.
I trembled and dangerously went down the stairs. Between the second and third floors, my legs were truly uncontrollable and began to shake violently. And coincidentally, there were people beside me, two girls. I felt as if I could clearly see their confused and disdainful faces even with my back turned. I accelerated rushing down the stairs and finally successfully arrived downstairs.
I leaned against the wall resting. Until now, my acting skills were still perfect; not a single person extended a helping hand to me, and this was exactly what I, expected.
Car antifreeze is decidedly one of the sweetest foods you have ever tasted, probably similar to the taste of parents putting too much sugar in food when you were little; there is no pleasure, only dizziness and a cloying sensation. I drank a bottle, a brown reagent bottle, bearing a skull symbol and a flame symbol representing flammability. I admit I did think about starting a fire in the school at the time. But the ignition performance of benzene is better. In short, I drank half a mineral water bottle of ethylene glycol, and nothing happened. It was not observed by anyone, nor were there kidney stones caused by calcium oxalate. Just like how I held my urine for so many years yet still didn’t get uremia, a weird miracle.
I also drank benzene. I only drank one sip. That feeling of being shot in the chest made me never want to drink a second sip. Clearly, it was just slightly viscous, transparent, pure water in the bottle cap, but who knew this guy would have an endless aftertaste, more painful than the carbon dioxide gas of cola hitting the nose afterwards. It was simply like being hit by two bullets. I also ran to the toilet at the time to catch tap water to drink.
You can do anything in the toilet. Self-harm, bloodletting. The hidden, remote toilets are simply unregulated paradises where we are completely unscrupulous. We can easily commit suicide in that remote toilet, lock the door from the inside, as long as one knows how to tie a rope knot, then put it around the neck, then sit, and it is done.
It is just that easy.