Diary of a Suicide - fin

I opened my eyes this morning from a dream, and immediately thought, “what have I done?”.

I am in despair. What have I done? Last night was the time to do it and I didn’t do it. Last night my star was directly over San Francisco waiting for me, and I didn’t go. I missed it even though every indication told me it was time to go. I ignored it. I was overwhelmed and shocked by the feeling that I had missed a very important meeting; an opportunity.

I’m frustrated and disappointed in myself. I’m right. My doubts are wrong. It’s not suicide, it’s not death except in the normative, physical understanding of the world. Humans are blessed with intellect and reason and imagination. It is only the limited and unchallenged who restrict themselves by thinking that something is real according to their five senses.

I was walking down Second Street yesterday, and for what may have been the first time in my life, I reached 100% commitment. Later in the evening, Anita read me a story about the “100% perfect girl”. Normally, that may not have meant anything, but this past week . . . too many signs, too many “coincidences”, too many synchronicitous moments - when something is suggested and planted in your mind, and then recurs soon afterwards, á là the movie “Repo Man”.

#1: I’m doing a paper on the film “Original Gangstas”, and on my way to that class, I’m riding on the bus looking out with my telephoto lens and I catch someone wearing an “Original Gangstas” t-shirt. I mention this to my professor and she recalls to me the “Repo Man” reference.

#2: Right before that class, I was at a meeting for the people going to Thailand this summer. The person told us how it was disrespectful to raise your feet too high, or point the bottom of your feet at someone. In the class, the professor discussed semiotics and symbols and one of the examples she used was raising the bottom of her foot at us and asking us what was wrong with that. Nothing in this culture, but...

#3: I was in the computer room and I noticed an abandoned umbrella next to me. I picked it up, put it down, and left it there. Later, while talking to my professor about “Repo Man”, I looked across the room and under a chair I noticed an abandoned umbrella.

#4: On Thursday, I went to see the rushes of Kevin’s film at a place called “Monaco”. Afterwards, I took the 14 Mission to school, and when the bus doors opened, I got off and I was looking right at the “Monaco Café”.

Because of these constant...re-occurrences, I wonder if there is a sign in there. 100%. 100% perfect girl. 100% commitment.

Anita also read to me a poem by Tagore, called “Suicide of a Star”, which I couldn’t believe . . . it was an uncannily precise description of my suicide and my reasons to go. Poor Anita, some angel put her up to this and after I die, she is going to feel real bad. The idea of the star fits right in with “The Little Prince” story that acquired great significance after Carla mentioned it, prompting me to take it off my bookshelf once again.

I put Anita up to sending my personal copy of “The Little Prince” (gift from Luyen) to Madoka if anything happened to me. But I still wanted a copy for my own moral support right before I left. So I went to Stacey’s Bookstore, but it closed at 6:30. It was 6:30. I went to Virgin Megastore and they had four copies of the book: one in German, one in Italian, one in French, and one in Spanish. None in English. So I went to Borders. They had a bunch of books by the same author, none of the one I was looking for. I took that as a sign that I was to go on my own fortitude. No help, no crutches, no attachments.

Everything was telling me to go. For the past ten years something has always stopped me and I always believed that it was an angel helping me because it knew that it wasn’t time for me to die just yet. Increasingly, there has been nothing to stop me. In fact, there have been things taunting me to go ahead and do it. Either that means it’s OK to go ahead and do it because I have learned what I came here to learn, or the angel expected me to be able to sustain my own will to live in this world by now. Somehow I very much doubt the latter. We are children, we are idiots; there is no reason for higher beings to put any confidence in us.

Am I aware of the gravity of taking these last steps?

Yes, I am aware that dying means permanent removal of myself in this form from this time-space reality and that all the people who have known me and whose lives I’ve brushed against will continue with the knowledge that I have gone. Some may be hurt, some may feel sad, but I want to contribute to their learning not to be fooled by appearances and that they can only truly see with their hearts. What makes something special is what can’t be seen.

Am I certain that my past and future are resolved so that I am comfortable making this decision?

Yes. First of all, neither the past nor the future matter. Living in the present is what is important. I do not think I have learned the meaning of that fully, I hope to in a future lifetime, in’shah allah. Second, what has mattered in my past is certainly resolved, I have no regrets regarding my past, it is done and I am leaving no ends undone. People have come and gone. I’ve exhausted my potential to the best of my ability and I am the only one who is able to assess what is in my ability.

As for the future, I will not live for the future. The “future” is an attachment and a distraction that always holds promise and hope of something either good or bad, but it is speculative and tentative. It is good to follow dreams, but not to rely on them and base your life and reality on them. It is true that something could happen tomorrow that could change everything. That is not the point and that totally misses the teaching. It didn’t happen today. I think I am ready to learn about living in the present.

Do I feel sad?

Of course I feel sad. There are many people I’ve loved. There are many things that I’ve loved. In’shah allah, I will be blessed in my next life with the appreciation of life that I have in this life. Irony? No. And I will meet the people I’ve loved again. Things ended unfortunately with many people. That is not permanent.

Is there not anything I have left to contribute to the world around me?

Maybe there is. I don’t feel it. Not enough to balance out the rot in my bones. What of value can I truly give when I can’t take care of myself? The only thing of value that I could give would be myself, and I have not been able to attribute that value onto myself.

I am not convinced that my going is the absolute best thing for me to do, but I am convinced that the circumstances are easily enough to let me go. I am going with a wealth of learning and understanding, but there is also a great deal of pain in my heart. That pain causes some reservation, but it’s not enough to order me to stay.

Then go. Godspeed.

Diary of a Suicide

I woke up this morning. I’m not happy about it, but not surprised. I got home after 1:00 a.m. from Kevin’s.

I will wake up tomorrow morning, too.

I’m 28 years old. I’ve done nothing with my life. I can’t handle anything on the outside because I haven’t handled anything on the inside. I can’t talk about myself to anyone. Not the truth. I don’t know why, I just can’t. I’ve tried and it just doesn’t come out. It’s funny thinking about all the people on the outside and how I behave towards them. It’s just a game.

I’ll wake up tomorrow morning. I might wake up Tuesday morning. I don’t know if I’ll wake up Wednesday morning. Thursday morning? April 17? Wasn’t I planning April 17 last year? What stopped me? Nothing stopped me. I just wasn’t ready yet. I won’t wake up Friday morning.

Series V, Roll 15 (Fujica ST605n, Tri-X):

Shooting on Kevin's Set: I'm pretty sure I was using the Fujica because it was more sensitive to indoor lighting than the Pentax K2.


Frame 0


Frame 1


Frame 3 - Carla Sandiego. Man, did I have a crush on her. Who didn't?


Frame 4


Frame 12


Frame 24


Frame 31


Frame 36

Diary of a Suicide

Yes. I am going to do it. There is no reason not to and I’m not getting any signs not to. I don’t feel like doing it, so I know I’m not going to do it for material reasons. So why am I going to do it? I don’t have to answer that; this isn’t for anyone else but me and I’m satisfied with my reasons or lack thereof.

I do not have to answer to anyone but myself and god. I may not know what I’m doing, but god does; and as god is the interconnectedness between all things, and as I submit to the will of god, I am satisfied that I will be doing god’s will on some level or in some form.

I will wake up tomorrow morning. As long as I’m this close to Kevin’s shoot, I might as well live tomorrow.

Diary of a Suicide

Well. The feeling is completely gone, but I still know I can do it any day now and have no reason not to. It shouldn’t depend on feeling anyway, that’s not the point. What feeling? Depressed? Suicidal? Those are exactly the wrong times for me to do it. So it may happen soon, it may not.

It crossed my mind to wait for a failure. If I miss the deadline for handing in a paper, then that’s the time to do it. But that’s all wrong, too. That would be killing myself because I couldn’t get my papers done and the resulting feeling. It needs to be spontaneous and not contingent upon something material. Besides, in the moment of stress of having a paper due, who knows how I’ll feel or how I’ll act. Judgment is much too impaired. Bad idea.

Diary of a Suicide

Well, of course I can’t do it on a Tuesday night! I’ve already moved my car across the street out of the Wednesday 8 - 10A.M. No Parking zone. If I don’t move my car tomorrow, I’ll get a ticket for being in a restricted residential two hour zone. I guess I could move it back and get one ticket per week until it’s moved instead of the ticket per day where it is now.

I renewed those library books.

We did “Thelma and Louise” in Film and Law today and I watched it this afternoon before class. What a great movie. Something about that last scene - the intensity, the exuberance of knowing what they’re about to do, the positivism and camaraderie in the face of resignation. I know I’ll feel it no matter what my motive is. I’ve rehearsed dying and I’ve always felt a tingle of expectancy, an exuberance in the gravity of the step I could be taking, and I’ve always been smiling with joy.

There is nothing stopping me but myself. The question is why I’m not doing it and I can’t do it unless I find an answer to that question which satisfies me that I’m doing it for the right reason. Although if I do it, I’ll know that I did it for the right reason. If you wonder whether you’ve accomplished your purpose for living on earth - if you’re alive, you haven’t.

Diary of a Suicide

It turns out that the books I have out from the school library were due yesterday. So I have to bring them tomorrow to renew them.

I went to the darkroom to pick up the photos. Afterwards, I had to walk one block to the bus stop at Haight and Laguna where the routes of four buses run. It shouldn’t be too long a wait to catch a bus, certainly shorter than waiting for an F Market streetcar. As I walk the block, I watch as one, two, three, four buses come into view and make the turn and disappear. What is this, a joke or something? Not willing to let myself be fazed at this obvious attempt to piss me off, I continue walking along the bus route. It’s still probably a better idea than going back to wait for the F. There are several times that if I ran, I could catch the last bus that passed, a 71, but I hate the indignity of running for a bus, and the possible humiliation of missing it. As I walk, I can look down the cross streets and see Market. What do I see? An F Market streetcar. Now I know someone is really trying to piss me off? I won’t be fazed, but I know what I want. I run and catch it.

So I have the photos, the photodiary can stand as complete if I were to die now. Two more of the portraits of Madoka would make it definitely complete, but it’s fine the way it is now. Why am I going to wake up tomorrow? Because I’m going to go to sleep tonight. Why am I going to go to sleep tonight? Because I’m going to watch “Thelma and Louise” at school tomorrow for Film and Law class.

No really, I’m on hang time now. I just don’t feel like dying, even though that’s the best time to do it. It proves to me that I’m sincere about my convictions. That I’m not subscribing to the cliché of ‘life sucks, I want to die’ coupled with ‘life is OK, I’ll go ahead and live’. The worst time to die is when I’m depressed and want to kill myself. That’s being too attached to this reality.

No more setting dates. I’m on hang time now and the next time it occurs to me, the next time I feel like it, the next time I feel like setting a date, I’m going. Kevin is filming on Saturday, and the temptation is to say I’ll wait until after that, but I’m not going to wait if I don’t want to. If it occurs to me to go before Saturday, I’ll go. Saturday is not going to stop me. It probably already has. I know I need to go. Everything is pointing towards doing it and doing it now, this month. I’ve had a dream about his before. The necessity of doing it within a certain time window. If I’m not waiting for something, why don’t I just go?

Diary of a Suicide

I will wake up tomorrow because I’m going to go to sleep tonight. Daylight Savings Time started today. I’m glad that I will experience at least two days of these longer sunlight hours. These little things...

I woke up late this morning and was out the door almost immediately to get to the darkroom. I seem to have attached myself to getting this photodiary into some complete form. It’s arbitrary. I’m grasping for straws. It’s really not that important. It’s nothing to be proud of. It’s not a clear endeavor of artistic expression. I’m not saying anything through it.

So the plan was to pick up the final photos in the afternoon. That didn’t happen. I got held up. So as of tonight, the photodiary isn’t finished and I’m mildly obsessing about it. I need to get this done, when I know damn well that I don’t. It’s not a good excuse to wake up tomorrow, but I will. I’ll go to sleep tonight.

I went to school to try to read. Couldn’t do it. Didn’t see anyone I know, found nothing of meaning. I came home and tried to call people. Answering machines or asleep. Why am I doing this to myself? It’s all a big joke now. I’m demeaning myself by clinging. In the clutch I lose my dignity. Why don’t I just go?

I know that if I was meant to live, something would have come up. Something to live for another week, another month. Instead I’m getting the complete opposite. I’m getting things that are annoying me, irritating me, aggravating me, compounding all the reasons I have to leave. And instead I live. I say one more day. I need to get those photos and put them in the scrapbook. Then why am I planning on going to classes? What I do makes no sense.

I’m eager to see what excuse I make for myself tomorrow night to wake up Tuesday morning. If I have any pride at all, this will be my last entry.