Suicide Club

         Our membership is growing larger which is ironic given the purpose of this group. One would think that a suicide club would quickly run out of members.
         I silently looked the group over as Jill acted the proper hostess, standing next to the door greeting each new comer with a somber nod. The last member arrived, early. There were no stragglers in this group. Jill took her seat, looking to me.
         Jill’s parents were on a two- week cruise which provided the group with a secluded meeting area. Like most parents in this day and age, Jill’s parents were blind. Jill displayed all the classic symptoms of a potential suicide; she was withdrawn. She dressed in a dark, gothic fashion, and she wore a distant, empty gaze that was devoid of any emotion. And how did her parents respond? They gave their sixteen- year old daughter a credit card and left her home alone while they enjoyed yet another cruise.
         People wonder what a girl like Jill has to be depressed about. Her parents were wealthy and have never denied her a thing, and they even managed to be around for the major holidays and birthdays. Being an only child, Jill didn’t have to compete with any siblings. Moreover, she neither suffered physical nor verbal abuse. I even had to wonder why she joined the club. Most kids in her situation became spoiled snobs who felt that the world was their play ground and that their station was above all others. Jill was just the opposite. She felt like she didn’t belong.
         I count twenty-two present tonight; four more than last week. They all sat before me, scattered about the basement, sitting either on a chair or the floor. Besides the obvious, their only commonalities were dark clothing and somber looks. Their ages varied between fifteen and thirty-two. Some of the group held jobs, some were students, and others just existed.
         Everyone was silent, either looking at me or their laps. The room lacked energy. There wasn’t even any private whispering going on. If an outsider were to enter right now, they would think I was a cult leader.
         “Welcome,” I said softly. I have been told that my voice has a natural melancholic tone to it. “I see that we have new members with us tonight. Let me give them a brief introduction to the suicide group.
         “My name is Peter. I formed this group three years ago, after my sister committed suicide. I’m twenty-six years old, and I write for a living. I was suicidal, but I no longer am. Yet, I can still identify with those who are.
         “This is not a counseling group. It’s not a place to meet new friends nor is it a hangout. I highly suggest that you do not make friends here; friendships here don’t last long.
         “This group is a forum where you get the opportunity to speak your mind. A prospective suicide has no one to confide in while in this world, except for shrinks and once you talk to them you can count on being tossed into the psychiatric ward of your local hospital; for your own safety of course.
         “This group gives you a platform to let it all out without having to worry about any consequences; there are no consequences here.
         “We are not here to debate one another. Nor are we here to dissuade anyone from following their own will. It’s a club rule that no response of any kind is to be made while we are meeting. What you do after the meeting is over is up to each of you.
         “Everyone here uses a pseudonym. It’s a rule not to speak of the club existence or its members to people who do not belong. I’m the only one who knows each member’s true identity. Every week, I’ll call to inform each of you where the next meeting will be held. If you choose to have contact with another member outside of the meetings, that’s between you and the other person.
         “I do not assist in any suicides, nor do I advocate it. Personally, I don’t care one way or another. It’s your life. If the Christian bible is true, God gave you free will. Unlike the government, the preachers and the shrinks, I’m not going to force you to live.
         “This is why our group exists. Only another potential suicide knows what it feels like to succumb to such thoughts. Only we look at the reality around us and understand that it’s not worth living.
         “There is nothing cowardly about suicide. It takes courage, strength and determination to end one’s life. Only an honest person can look at this world and ask, what’s the purpose?
         “The others think we have psychological problems. I believe it’s just the opposite. They are the ones that delude themselves into believing that their lives are good. Free will, pursuit of happiness and the American dream are all fabricated illusions. Life’s rules are dictated by a few and the masses are scared sheep which blindly follow because they’re too afraid to think for themselves.
         “I don’t care. I’m no longer suicidal, but I also don’t care. I write because I find a hint of amusement in it. I see life as a factory of automatons; robots doing what they are programmed to do. And I see no purpose to it.
         “Eighty odd years is the projected lifespan for man. What do we do with it? We’re raised under our parent’s rule. Then, we’re forced into the adult world where we get to work for a living, paying for a government that does whatever it wants, including giving our money to those who’d rather live off of our toil. Next, you get to grow old and suffer the ailments of age; how fun. And, finally, we get to die.
         “That’s life. Seek what pleasures you can along the way, for that’s the only thing of consequence in life.
         “We have tried to view ourselves as being the intelligent species, but I believe the animals have us beat. They exist and that’s it. They accept the cycle of life. Humans have just complicated their existence. We create technology but to what purpose? Why do we need to reach mars? So we can live eighty odd years destroying another world?
         “Oh, yeah, I forgot. Technology is helping us to live longer lives. Isn’t that grand! Soon, we’ll be able to live a hundred years of uselessness. Think of it, a hundred odd years of obeying others, working to support others, so that one day you can retire and watch life fade away as you age. God, I hope they create the longevity pill soon. I can’t wait to extend the uselessness of life.
         “I may sound bitter, but I’m not. I don’t care. I just see life for what it is, a cycle that serves no purpose except to create more life.
         “Then why do I run this group? I guess, in some way, I do care. I don’t think it’s right to be denied choice. By forcing a person to live a life they don’t want to is inhumane. Shrinks think they can help or make the problem go away. Doesn’t that sound just phony?
         “How can they help? How do they know what you’re feeling? How Can they comprehend what living is like for you? They can’t, and by forcing you to live they become no better than torturers.
         “However, I do believe that not all suicides are true. Many are misguided youth who can easily be brainwashed into living the illusion of a good life. Others are just seeking attention. Even though I don’t subscribe to the way of life, I don’t like seeing a false suicide.
         “Here, in this group, you will have the opportunity to talk about your life. We will listen to everything that’s wrong in your life, and you will in return listen to our woes. I believe that by speaking it aloud, to an audience, you will either confirm your lack of purpose to live or just the opposite; you may realize that living is more preferable than the unknown. Your story may also help the undecided.
         “My sister was a true suicide. I read her journals. As a result, I almost killed myself. I let her lack of purpose become mine. I wasn’t a true suicide.
         “I exist. I have no real desire to live or die. It doesn’t matter to me either way. It took awhile before I realized this.
         “That’s why I began this group. Not knowing was painful. We shouldn’t have to suffer. The choice is ours.”
         It would be so easy to turn these kids into my sheep. I could become their purpose, their reason to live. They seek. They’re confused. I could give their miserable lives meaning. Sex, money, and obedience: I could have it all with just a little manipulation. Their minds are weak, too weak to be part of the norm. You could say that I am doing both them and society a favor. Every suicide who succeeds is one less potential rebeller; one less person to agitate the sheep. Those that don’t go through with it will usually fall in line with the rest.
         As for now, I just don’t care. Maybe, one day, I’ll gain a purpose. But, until then, I’ll just make sure choice remains an option.
         “Before we begin, I need to make an announcement. Two of our members, Kyle and Rebecca, successfully ended their lives Wednesday night. They were true suicides. After loading Kyle’s car full with gas cans, they drove off of a high cliff. There was no second chance.”
         They applaud at my smile.
         “Jill, since you are our host tonight, will you please start us off.”