Hopefully, by now, everyone realises that the second article I posted yesterday was an April Fool’s prank. If you fell for it, you’re so fucking gullible. I mean, seriously. Your first tip-off should have been that everyone bidding on sponsoring me was a company I have specifically bashed in the past. Your second clue should have been the irony of an adamant activist selling out in the worst way possible. And, if neither of those got you, the words, “April” and “fools” in the article tags should have gotten you. But, all was fun, and I hope most of you had a good laugh. I know I did. It was certainly better than the spur of the moment gag I played on my brother. (HINT: That gag involved his car, a truck, and a smaller than deserved insurance settlement.)
So, let’s begin the thirteenth chapter. If this is the first time you’ve read this serial, or you just need to catch up, this is what happened last time on Ceej: A Mental Breakdown.
Part XIII: This Life’s To Die For…
Immediately upon my tactical escape from Decatur West, things started improving for me, or so it seemed. I mean, I was no longer locked up, and my life was no longer dictated to me by the Mental Health Centre. I went back to college even though I failed most of the lessons during my last semester as a result of being committed right before final exams. My parents continued to give me rides to church on Sundays and, when they stopped, there was a church within walking distance of my new flat. Life was easy.
Life was easy, but it wasn’t moving. My art wasn’t going anywhere because, to be a better Christian, I had abandoned most of my works in progress and the few things I did make weren’t all that great. Going to MHC once a month for cheques, once a week for therapy, and twice a year to see Dr. Hancock – who, by the way, didn’t appreciate the surprising number of juvenile dirty jokes we were able to make about his name – didn’t change anything. Going to college didn’t change anything. My life was pretty much stuck. At least, when I was committed, I had something to do. Something to work for. Something to look forward to. This was going to be a bland and pointless existence forever.
I was able to ignore this fact about myself until one late summer Tuesday morning. I awakened to the sound of an explosion on the telly, and a woman screaming, “Oh my God!” I opened my eyes and saw a jet aeroplane flying into a skyscraper in New York. The adjacent skyscraper was already on fire. In all this tragedy, I realised that, if I died in something like that now, my existence would have been pointless. My existence was pointless. How many ill-gotten resources have I used to continue to live? What have I done? What could I do? The best thing I could do, at this point, was to stop doing these evil things to society.
I found an old Nintendo controller. I rigged it up in the walk-in closet. I tied one end of the cable around my neck with a slipknot, and the end with the controller around the pole for hangers in a slip-proof manner. I decided that, if I just leaned forward, I would cut off my air supply. So, I leaned forward…