“I set the bar so fucking low it was pretty much past Satan on the right down two more fucking flights of stairs and he still managed to dig lower than that”
That’s what I texted my best friend, at 5 in the morning, knowing full well she was sound asleep, having already gathered all my sleeping pills in a milky white pile of life threatening candy. I lit myself a cigarette and stared at my skip button for the afterlife. I don’t even believe there’s anything there, waiting for me past the finish line. No hell, heaven or form of higher justice to go with the summary of your life. Emptiness and lack of consciousness sounded good enough to me anyway. I was already feeling empty most of the time, removing the the ability of my mind to exist from the equation was ultimately what I wanted. “Chronic feeling of emptiness” that’s how this one symptom was described on all the papers I’ve read since getting my diagnosis. Doesn’t do it justice. It’s what it is, but it’s not just that. Emptiness doesn’t sound so bad when you never felt it before. It’s technically nothing but it’s so heavy it crushes you and keeps you down, weighting on your body and mind like a giant you can’t escape. It’s devastating and numbing at the same time. Then it lets you out for a bit, to cry yourself to sleep or punch the wall with so much anger you break your hand. Sometimes it lets you out of his embrace to feel the smile on your face being genuine, but it never truly leaves. Whatever you feel it’s temporary. It won’t last and at this point I’d gladly trade for the deepest of pains just to feel something for more than minute without that shadow behind it. Knowing I can’t do anything to escape that “chronic feeling of emptiness” is soul crushing and I’m tired.
I’m so tired. I don’t have a drop of energy left in me to fight, not after losing yet another person that pulled me out of that static nightmare. Not that I blame him. Who am I kidding, I do. I do blame him, just like I blame and resent all the people that left me behind since I have the ability to remember. I still know it’s not their fault I’m so much. I would probably do the same in their shoes. I did the same, to be fair. I couldn’t handle someone else bringing me down when I’m so talented at doing that myself, so I left. Just like he did. I didn’t even feel bad. I set my boundaries and stood by them, yet I couldn’t accept that someone else did the same to me.
I’m selfish, I’m broken and I’m kinda of a bitch. I’m a bad person, I bring nothing to the table but sad jokes and self pity and even dare be surprised when I end up alone at 5 am smoking a cigarette with sleeping pills and a lonely bug staring at me from the other side of the balcony as my company. What a joke. What an excuse of a human being I am. Good thing that’s about to end right?
I started chugging down the sleeping pills. No job, no real talent, no motivation to be found. Damn they taste like shit. No reason to live, no strength to find one. A tear landed on the hand still holding the cigarette. Then another one and another one and another one. Just like the pills.
“Great, now I’m gonna die with my makeup ruined” I thought. As if the ugly crying I did while on the phone with him hadn’t already made work of my mediocre eyeliner skills. As if anyone was gonna bother to check on me, leaving the worms plenty of time to feast on my face tissue before anyone could worry about smudgy mascara.
Before I knew it, I had swallowed 70 something sleeping pills and a glass of vodka.
“That should do it, right little guy?”
I asked the bug.
“It’s your lucky day, by the way. If I wasn’t so busy ending my useless life I’d be ending yours for stepping on my property. No offence, but you’re kinda gross”
I felt my gut wrench and more tears coming down my already sore and bulgy eyes.
“I’m speedrunning to the grave and talking to a goddamn bug what the fuck is wrong with me. I’m so useless I didn’t even bother to write a note. Why did I even drag myself this far”
I punched the already unstable plastic table, that couldn’t help but tremble and stutter. It wasn’t satisfying at all. Just loud, like my conscience telling me to fuck off from the planet. I laid back on the outdoor couch, cigarette still in hand, puffing the time away. I closed my eyes and hoped to never have to open them again.
Much to my disappointment, I woke up and a cold flickering light on the ceiling greeted me with its static buzzing. She seemed to be as stable as my mental health. I raised my head, not yet fully awake. The left side of my face felt sore, my eyes puffy and tired. It took me a minute to fully come to my senses and realize I had no idea where I was. I started looking around to make sense of my surroundings. How did I end up in an empty, awfully generic room straight out of any public, underfunded building’s basement? My nose was still clogged up from all the crying, but the unbearable stench of that place was creeping its way up my nostrils. The room reeked of death and something else I couldn’t put my finger on. Something in between rotting eggs and despair.
A metal table with a lingering impression of my sleepy face still on it, another metal cranky chair on the other side was all I could see. Had I sleepwalked somewhere? Was this a kidnapping? A nightmare? Human trafficking? Did the bug curse me with his little scrawny legs? I was looking around the room for anything that could tell me what kind of building I was in when it caught my eye. A crucifix, on the wall right in front of me. Slightly leaning on the left, perfectly still and inanimate as any object should be, yet somehow I felt like it was looking at me.
Creepy Jesus triggered my weak survival instinct and made me finally break out of my paralysis. I tried to get up, but the chair didn’t glide on the dull linoleum. Instead it sank straight through it, into something slimy. Something smelly, soft and squishy whose sound I’ll never forget. One single, unnaturally isolated eyeball peeking from the crack on the floor, laying on a reddish mount of what looked, and smelled, like human remains. I gagged, jumping from the chair. The fake tile crumbled under my bare feet as the wet mass underneath reached my ankles. The bile in my stomach tried to make a run for it, but by some miracle didn’t. I forced myself to keep going for the door, trying my best to ignore the fact that I was literally walking thought a pile of rotting meat. I would have felt a brief sense of relief when my fingertips touched the handle, if the door didn’t immediately swing open with enough force to send my terrified ass on the ground, to what I can safely say was the least pleasant soft landing of my life. A tall, lean man was standing outside the door, looking at me. He was well dressed and his expression was a mix of confusion and annoyance.
“I’m only a couple minutes late and you’re already a scared mess, fuck’s sake”
He sighed and let himself in, shutting the door behind. The handle locked itself. He sat on the unmoved chair and stared at me, scratching his neck.
“Get up girly I may have all of eternity but you don’t”
I stared back and must have looked like a deer in headlights, ‘cause he didn’t even wait for a response.
“I’m not picking you up from the corpse floor but just so you know, cleaning comes once a century and it’s 2022 so do your math”
I felt like my mind should have been racing, I should be running to the door and trying to escape. I should be questioning this man. I should be doing something, anything but complying, but I did just that. Got up and sat legs crossed on the remaining chair. What I can only assume was blood and bodily fluids staining the bottom of my pajama pants. Gross, but not as gross as keeping my feet on the swampy floor. The man still scratching an invisible itch, this time on his jawline.
“It looks like you’re a pretty standard case of suicide, care to explain any further?”
His tone was annoyed, his voice deep and raspy. He seemed be in his early forties, with dark sleek hair and a pointy, well kept beard. His clothes were nice and well fitted, but a couple of red stains ruined the perfectly ironed shirt under his vest. It was like I could finally make out the dark figure that inhabited the corner of my eyes in my sleep paralysis. He would have been handsome if something about his presence wasn’t so menacing and dark.
“That wasn’t a rhetoric question sweetie”
My voice finally emerged, half broken and weaker than I’d liked.
“Who are you? Where am I? Why am I here?”
He raised his eyebrows.
“You took a bunch of pills and called it quits early. Where did you think that was going to land you?” He scratched his neck again. It was getting red and irritated.
“I don’t believe in the afterlife”
“Oh well sorry then, I’ll just stop running Hell ‘cause miss hello kitty pants here doesn’t believe in me or my kingdom”
“So I’m supposed to believe I am now in Hell and you’re Satan?”
“I don’t care if you believe it, all I know is that the big guy upstairs gets a kick out of making me have this one on one futile sessions with freshly reaped souls from time to time, but trust me I don’t like it at all so let’s move on”
He was almost scratching his skin by this point. He turned around, looked at the wall and with a flick of his long fingers turned creepy Jesus upside down.
“That’s better. Now back to business: what made you get yourself to an early grave?”
“I guess I was just tired”
“Elaborate”
“I’ve been depressed my whole life. I was tired. I cut contact with the guy I was talking to and-“
“So you Marilyned your way to Hell because a guy dumped your ass? I swear you’re gonna put all my demons out of work with how fragile your generation is”
“That’s not the reason, you interrupted me!”
He ignored me.
“We used to have to talk folks into pacts, selling their souls for riches, fortune and fame. It’s an art, to convince a devoted Christian to eternal damnation you know? It takes charm, persuasion. Now you do it all by yourself and it’s not even entertaining to hear the reason why”
I hated to admit it, but he had a point. I landed myself in this gross and smelly room, real or imaginary didn’t matter, after killing myself in my pajamas on a Friday night. Not that impressive if you put it this way.
“Well I don’t care about your pacts and demons, you’re fucking rude”
I’m too much of a brat to tell him I think he has a point. Or is it a sneaky membrance of pride speaking?
“No shit, I’m the devil”
“Well calling for a dentist appointment scares me more than you so maybe my generation isn’t the lazy one”
He chuckled.
“You really must not value your soul if you dare speak to me like that”
Why did that hit me? I knew what I was doing when I took those pills. I knew I didn’t wanna wake up, so why am I now all of a sudden offended at this Robert Downey Jr. looking dude with too much gel in his beard claiming to be Satan and his remarks on my self preservation? He spoke before I could make a sense out of my newly found disdain.
“I do prefer someone with a bite rather than a sorry for herself good for nothing crybaby”
“I’m not a crybaby, or good for nothing and I’m not sorry for myself” Am I seriously pleading my case to fucking Satan right now?
“Then why did you throw your life away and land yourself in a torture chamber in hell?”
“This doesn’t look like a torture chamber”
“It is. Big guy made it look like a regular room to not immediately spook you, or so I assume. Didn’t do that good a job though, considering it crumbles like porcelain”
The creepy Jesus turned back up again with a swift but subtle woosh. Satan rolled his eyes and flicked it again.
“He’s a little sensitive” he whispered, keeping an eye on the crucifix, expecting it to move again. It didn’t.
“Listen, folks usually start desperately pleading their case as soon as they see me, I get some teary eyed “please don’t condemn me to eternal damnation I’ll be good I promise” bullshit and send them back to volunteer on holidays or whatever. Why are you not doing that so I can move on with my day?”
I stood silent. Why wasn’t I doing that? Had I really let my sickness get the best of me after fighting for so long, and was only now realising it? Every ounce of the determination I felt while swallowing those nasty pills was gone. I isolated myself into the darkness of my thoughts and forgot about all the things that had kept me going my whole life. I could have called my friends, my mom. Heck I could’ve just gotten into my car and drove to see my dog and let that little cute thing knock some sense into me with her signature paw stomping. I had plenty of coping mechanisms and I’ve crawled my way out of so much worse, why the fuck did I throw the towel in? Sure, it was the hundredth thing that went wrong in my life in the span of a few months, but it was just that. As bad as it is, it wasn’t something I couldn’t recover from. I knew I could, I did it before. I felt a surge of tears emerging in my eyes. Maybe I was I really a good for nothing crybaby.
“No, you’re not. Stop being so mean to yourself, no wonder you ended up here with that attitude” His tone surprisingly more lenient. “I can read your mind, one of the perks of being a higher form of being” “That’s kinda creepy and very intrusive”
Another eye roll. “Can we move on to you begging me to avoid eternal damnation and promise me you’ll volunteer on holidays and be a good Christian?”
“No. I’ve never made empty promises.”
“Good thing those aren’t necessary for coming back to life”
“Isn’t that what Christianity is entirely based upon? Pretending you give a shit about others just so your local predator priest can pat you on the head and promise you a suspiciously good afterlife for your insincere efforts?”
“That’s a pretty grim take. I like it”
No wonder Satan agreed with my take on religion, but that made me wonder why I was even here in the first place instead of being sent straight to hell, which apparently is a thing. There’s no way this odd interview is gonna end well, so why not just throw me into a pile of screaming souls and call it a day. I should wish for that, maybe. After all I did off myself just what feels like half an hour ago.
“Why did God choose me for this?”
“Honestly, there’s no rhyme or reason. Sometimes he gets bored and picks a random folk for me to talk to. You just got lucky”
“That doesn’t seem fair”
“Life isn’t fair and neither are your chances of getting it back”
“That’s not really encouraging”
“Again, sweetie, I’m the devil. Making you full of life and joy isn’t exactly on my job description”
“You don’t seem so bad but stop calling me sweetie or I’ll punch you”
“Beware of hello kitty pants and her mighty punches” He seemed annoyed, despite the sarcasm. “And by the way, I am “bad”, I simply don’t enjoy wasting my time. Need I remind you you’re in a torture chamber in Hell, full of remains, effectively out of your own volition? Castigating you with words seems rather pointless don’t you think? Why add insult to injury when you saved me the time already?”
Yep there it is, I successfully annoyed Satan. But damn this odd love child of a tango dancer and a 2010 hipster had a point again. I do have a slight tendency to berate myself. A slight tendency that can best be described as the main activity of my brain, in fact. That useless clump of cells was definitely wired by an overworked, distracted new hire ten minutes before the end of their shift and I’m left to deal with the consequences. It is indeed unfair. I have a right to my anger, I’m pretty sure. I’m pretty sure I’m also free now. I’m in fucking hell, I did it. I got what I wanted but my mind is still alive and buzzing and spitting poison at me. I couldn’t help but laugh. Was Satan really talking to me, changing his speech based on how much drama he deemed fit?
“I guess the big guy does have some sense of humour after all”
“Or maybe you’re so much of a joke you get on my nerves and get my sassy side out. Now, do you wanna go back up?”
Do I? I’m not getting the relief I hoped for here. I can’t seem to erase my consciousness as easily as I’d like to. Maybe up there is not as bad as down here. Maybe they’re the same. What do I know, I’m just a depressed fuck that’s somehow so mean to herself not even the devil bothers to insult me.
“Yes?”
I could tell he didn’t like my answer and didn’t wait for a more convincing one either. Whatever weak illusion was censoring the room started crumbling. One of the walls disappeared completely, the others were just as disgusting as the rotting pile of meat on the ground. Satan got up and grabbed the back of my neck, dragging me to the makeshift window. He kept pushing me until I felt a disturbing lack of solid pavement under my toes. Under us was a mob of wailing bodies barely recognisable as humans. The smell was somehow worse. I could make out missing limbs, almost decrepitated heads and pools of blood and liquefied remains all moving in a terrifyingly chaotic mess that extended beyond my eyes could see.
“Now, sweetheart, do you wanna go back up?”
“Yes! Yes I wanna go back up please don’t throw me in there!”
The grip on my neck loosened as the walls reappeared. As soon as he let go of me I fell on the floor and finally lost the battle against the contents of my stomach, who ended up spreading on the floor and his shoes. I truly have no idea why, or how I got up, turned around and punched him right in the face, but I did. Needless to say, he didn’t even flinch.
“That was scary as shit, you condescending fuck!”
And then realisation hit me. Oh no I made it worse. Why the fuck did I do that what’s wrong with me I just punched Satan in the face. Right after seeing what awaits me if he decides to screw me over. Now I’m definitely going into the pit of former humans turned into rotting gunk. I just started at him, expecting to be handed my demise. Instead he chuckled and escalated into a ridiculously theatrical laugh. On brand for sure, but extremely concerning.
“Guess that’s on me for calling you sweetheart” He was still laughing. Why is he laughing. “You should see your face, it’s priceless” He finally stopped and cleared his throat. “You are entertaining, I’ll give you that but we’re done here”
“Am I going to hell now?”
He approached the door, still looking amused.
“You are in hell, dumbass. But I’ll spare you this time around. Don’t punch me again or I may change my mind”
I felt a sense of relief and suddenly remembered how to breath.
“Should I.. thank you or something? Or thank God?”
“I truly don’t care”
“This seems like an underwhelming conclusion”
“You got lucky, It’s not that deep. Now go back up and if you try to kill yourself again I may offer you a job as a demon. I like that spirit, but only after a couple millennia in the pit.”
“Wait! Where is this torture chamber?”
“Past my office, on the right, down two more flight of stairs” He rolled his eyes. “It’s not nearly as funny as you think”
It was funny, to me, but before I could have the last word I awakened in my bed. The empty boxes of pills on my nightstand reminding me I should not be seeing the light of day. I knew I didn’t put them there, but couldn’t help wonder if it was a bad dream. It couldn’t be. I remember the pills sliding down my sore throat like little gritty rocks. I remember the terrible aftertaste of chemicals, the bug, the cigarettes. The chill air hitting my fleece hello kitty pants. Well, my now disgustingly stained hello kitty pants.
I got up and dragged myself in the kitchen. A cup of coffee was waiting for me on the counter and a pack of cigarettes was perfectly placed next to it. I knew didn’t make it. I live alone. I stared at it, my confused head tilting on the side. A fresh change of clothes was lying on the chair I sit on everyday for my lacklustre breakfast of coffee and cigarettes. I guess whoever decided to feed me this morning doesn’t care for nutrition as much as me. If I had to put a label on how I felt, I couldn’t even with all of eternity as my timeframe. I tried to kick it and God kicked me back up. Or Satan. Or whatever. It feels like any other morning and no other morning I’ve ever lived. It feels like a very chaotic lesson on thinking before I glob down all of my sleeping pills. It feels like I need that coffee. It feels sort of empty, but in a good way. Almost as if I finally let out some of that anger, frustration and weight that held me down. Maybe some stayed back there? Who knows. I just know it feels a little better.
I changed, grabbed the coffee and cigarettes and headed to the balcony. The same bug was still there, looking at me through the steam emanating from the cup.
“Hey buddy” The fresh air was warm and cozy, the outdoor couch felt more comfortable than usual. I can say I was actually relieved for the first time in long, long time. Relaxed, even. “I’m still not going to go to church on Sundays”
My odd acquaintance jumped off the railing and went on its way. I think I saw it nod.