You know, the day l did it... l took two razor blades to the bathtub. You know why?
Because l knew that once l started to bleed, l'd get weak... and l didn't want to drop one blade and leave myself half done.
Can you imagine that?
Can you imagine hating your life so much, that you want to bring a backup razor?
Take a letter, Michael. To Dublin City Council. "Dear Sir or Madam. As wheelchair users with suicidal intentions, I must protest at a lack of facilities. None of the bridges are equipped with easy parapet access, thus curtailing the rights of the disabled to throw themselves in.
— When I was a kid, I could see things. Things humans aren't supposed to see. Things you shouldn't have to see. My parents were normal. They did what most parents would do. They made it worse. You think you're crazy long enough, you find a way out.
— You tried to kill yourself?
— I didn't try anything. Officially, I was dead for two minutes. But when you cross over time stops. Take it from me, two minutes in hell — is a lifetime. When I came back, I knew, all the things I could see were real. Heaven and hell are right here. Behind every wall, every window. The world behind the world, and we're smack in the middle. Angels and demons can't
cross over onto our plane. So instead we get what I call half-breeds. The influence peddlers. They can only whisper in our ears, but a single word can give you courage... or turn your favorite pleasure into your worst nightmare. Those with the demon's touch... like those part angel, living alongside us. They call it the balance. I call it hypocritical bullshit. So when a half-breed breaks the rules, I deport their sorry ass straight back to hell. I don't get them all, but I've been hoping to get enough to ensure my retirement.
— I don't understand.
— I'm a suicide, Angela. When I die, the rules say I've got just one place to go.
— You're trying to buy your way into heaven?
— What would you do if you were sentenced to a prison, where half the inmates were put there by you?
— I can prove that you created an entirely false identity.
— Oh, just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort.
— This phone call, it's...it's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note.
— Leave a note when?
— Goodbye, John.
— I want to kill myself.
— Fill this out.
Valentina: — That's someone hanging! He must be under this bridge.
Anton: — Hanging?
Valentina: — Get a rope.
Percy: — If he's hanging by his neck, he's already got a rope.
the best often die by their own hand
just to get away,
and those left behind
can never quite understand
why anybody
would ever want to
get away
from
them.
— You're gonna lose, Mathilda. There's a round in the chamber, I heard it.
— So what? What's it to you if I end up with a bullet in the head, huh?
— Nothing.
— I hope you're not lying, Leon. I really hope that down deep inside there's no love in you. Cos if there is just a little bit of love in you for me, I think that in a few minutes you're gonna regret you never said anything. I love you, Leon.