Suicide Aftermath: The World After You Died

It’s over. This is the end. You haven’t eaten a meal in 24 hours. You would like to enjoy a last meal but full stomach slows the dying process.

You’ve decided how you’re going to die. Maybe a neat cut to the wrist with the kitchen knife, parallel to the blood veins, then sit in the cool bathroom and turn on the faucet so that all the running water can help speed the bleeding.

Painful as hell at first but maybe later it’ll probably feel like falling asleep. Hey, let’s do some irony and play Linkin Park’s Bleed it Out while you’re at it.

Or maybe you got hanging on your might. Let it all be over real quick. Isn’t hanging the way how executed prisoners’ die? Heh. You’re a prisoner all right. A prison you can’t get out unless it’s ethereally.

Let’s just get thing over with it.

It may take a few minutes to a few hours to die, but you died.

You died.

But it’s not the end yet.

Oh, don’t you know? If you have sought help, maybe if you checked online for the after-effects of suicide, maybe you would have thought twice about blowing a bloody hole to your head.

Everything’s always about you isn’t it? Well, let’s not argue on that anymore.

Because you’re dead.

Now we have to clean up your mess. Did you know that you’re leaving a big dead body behind? And it’s not going to move by itself, you’re already gone. Let’s see who is probably going to find you first.

Hm-mmm, your f***ing family perhaps? Your b***hing roommates? They’re probably wondering why you’re missing for so long. There are so many things still left unfinished. Bills and rent needs to be paid. And the car can’t start. Again. Oh and your boss at work called. He said that you’re fired for that ‘sloppy mess of a project’ or whatever else you screwed.

Then there’s your girlfriend, your landlord, your doctor, your lawyer, your university fees and all kinds of miscellany.

As a matter of fact, all the real life you’ve tried to fix, tried to avoid, tried to wade shit-deep in are all looking for you.

But nothing matters anymore anyway. You’re dead after all.
And they all will soon find out.

Oh hey, it’s your little brother, banging on the door. He probably wants to borrow money from you again. Or maybe he finally won something big and wants to celebrate with you. You’ll never know maybe.

But he found you. What do you think he felt first, looking at your lifeless body?

Shocked, yes. Then, he probably laughed. It’s a big joke, isn’t it? He patted your shoulder. He brushed your neck. He slapped your cheek a couple of time. He’s starting to get confused. C’mon that’s really over doing. Just stop holding your breath and wake up. Time to wake up, big brother.

But you don’t wake up.

You couldn’t wake up.

But that was your idea, wasn’t it? Have you ever wondered if you might still feel something after your death. Maybe like in the movies, you get an out of body experience. Will you see the discoverer of your dead body call the emergency number? Oh, there’ll definitely be panic and confusion. More people joined in. They want to do something, anything, to help you.

Haha, now they want to help. Too bad they didn’t try to help you when you were still alive. When you were suffering. But you’re not suffering anymore.

Aren’t you?

The paramedics have arrived. They’re professional. They see dead and dying people all the time. Maybe they can do better what the ones before them couldn’t. Your heart had stopped beating. Your lungs had stopped breathing. Slowly, whatever that’s still functioning in your still healthy body is dying with your soul.

The paramedics have arrived. Guess what they’ll be doing is trying to revive you too, more professionally. Can you still make it? Can you still come back? No, you’re death. But they’re not giving up. Because that’s their job, saving lives. Even if the person doesn’t want to be saved.

Maybe you have a small chance. Hey, you woke up! Well, not literally. The paramedics managed to wake you up a bit. Your heart starts beating. It’s a big irony isn’t it? The spirit is unwilling but the body is strong. Or maybe the devil hadn’t taken your soul yet and you had some second thoughts. Would that be enough to rescue you?

It gave the paramedics hope though. Now they got to get you to the hospital. Fast. Now. Ten minutes ago. Through the whole ambulance trip, the paramedics keep trying to wake you up. In the hospital, the doctors took over your lifeless body. They’re all trying to help you.

You must really enjoy the attention you’re having now. They’re probing and poking at you with needles, tubes and things. Gosh, what a great time you’re having.

But you were pronounced brain-dead.

Now it feels real, doesn’t it?

Oh wait, you con’t feel anything anymore.

But your family could. And they did. All kinds of negative feelings. Look, they’re just outside the emergency room. It’s your mother holding your father’s hand in a death grip. Why are they crying? They usually avoid you and so why are they here?

And your older sister is there too, throwing mean and dirty looks at your little brother. Maybe she’s blaming your little brother for your pain. Oh so now she cares. Where was she when you needed her?

To your family, the doctors explained. Your family exclaimed.

All of a sudden, there’s an empty void in their lives where you used to be.

Sure you did some bad things, worse things and a few better things. Your family hated you. But they loved you first. You were an extension of the family tree. You were a fruit your parents bore. You were the balance between your siblings amongst the branches.

Did you ever think of that?

Bet you should have thought about that. Maybe you did. Maybe you did know that deep down inside they do love you and they would be devastated when you killed yourself. Making the ones who love you suffer guilt for your death, the manner of your untimely death.

Touche.

Was that your idea? Wouldn’t it have been better if the only ones who truly felt bad about your actions were the ones you really wanted to hurt? Like your boss or your landlord or your girlfriend. Now that you’re gone, your boss would have nobody else to blame or steal ideas from. Your landlord would have nobody else to sleaze money from. And your girlfriend would be all alone.

Or maybe they wouldn’t care. Your boss never liked you anyway. Now he’s burning inscense and muttering scriptures to ward against whatever bad luck your suicide might cause against his business. Your landlord don’t care you you either. Now he can finally get someone with more money. The new tenants don’t have to know about that ‘bad room’.

As for your girlfriend... well, she’s alive. You’re dead. She’s going to have to move on without you. No matter how fond were her memories of you, they aren’t going to help her in anything except reminicing. She still has a future. They all do. The earth turns, the sunrises and all that’s left of you are just memories.

Memories of a sucide victim.

You’re better off being forgotten. And this is how the whole world forgets you. And the world will forget you.

All it takes is time.

Starting with the ones who love you. The stuff that had depressed you and forced you to shut your own eyes permanently had already begun to haunt your family. Oh no, you’re your bills or your personal artefacts. Not the phone numbers in the ledger or the project report in the computer.

It’s your sucide. Your ghost is slowly eroding the lives of everyone around you. Did you know that you’ve left a legacy of despair? Too bad you’re not around to witness it.

Your sister is blaming your brother. She was pissed at you for making all this guilt and misery on her, making a mess of your life and a havoc of your death. All she wants was a perfect, normal life where people died of old age, no matter how bad life turns. No matter how bad life turns, everybody still choose life.

But you didn’t.

Since she can’t be angry with you, she’s blaming your brother. She wants someone to blame. It’s her way of telling herself that she’s got nothing to do with your problems.

Your brother is confused. He feels guilty too and it’s eating him alive. He kept playing questions in his head, the ‘whys’ and ‘what-ifs’. Should have talked to you more, should have read the signs. If you could see him, you would see how weak and meek he looked, sitting there on the floor. He’s just taking in all your sister’s abuse. Taking it, taking it, taking it.

He’s starting to look like when you were at your worst.

What a happy memory you left behind.

What about your parent? The two who knows you since you were very small. You mother was the woman who gave birth to you. Did you want to hurt her? Make her think that all those years of raising you was a waste of time and money?

Would you be surprised to know that instead, she’s trying to think of happier thoughts of you?

She’s a mother. Like all mothers, they have hopes and dreams of their children. Every hug, every sport’s bruises, every exam’s marked answer sheet. She had been happy to have you as her son.

She did. There should be more happy days. Your mother is trying to tell herself that it was all just a bad dream. That you’re still alive and living miserably, but alive. She’s old and tired. She should be sleeping. But she stayed awake, waiting for that phone call you always make on weekends, even if it was just to ask for money.

And how’s Dad? He’s trying to organize your funeral. The extended families had to be notified. Your coffin, your obituary, the religious community. Then there’s the death certificate. Oh and not to mention the police report. Suicides have to be filed in for the police records.

That’s a whole lot of people who will soon know that you’ve killed yourself. It’s an entire circus of grief and shame. Imagine how he would beat away from some overly curious questions. Yes, my son killed himself. Yes, he’s young. No, he wasn’t married, please stop asking.

Looks like the last memories of you in this world are all about your suicide. Your life and your suicide. Your problems and your suicide. Your pain and your suicide.

Is that how you wanted to be remembered? The world may soon forget you, but when they remember to think of you, it will be all about your suicide. And the effects leading to it.

To the end of your short life.

Bad relationship?
Lawsuits maybe?
Health issues?
Mental problems?
Inheritence troubles?
Familial history?

All sorts of speculations. Then they stir their nescafe susu, chew on their roti canai and talk of other things.

So you’re gone. The ones who love you hurt the most. The ones who didn’t care about you goes on to forget you. And being gone, there’s nothing left in the world about you. The longest legacy you’ll ever leave behind is nothing more than a statistic on the National Suicide Registry.

And that’s the end of you.

So before you separate yourself from God and the rest of the world, think very carefully of what kind of legacy you’re leaving behind.

It’s far more than a heavy dead body.

Survivors of Suicide: Healing after a loved one’s suicide.
What Happens to Suicide Cases After Death?
Grief After Suicide
Contemplating Suicide?