That's not a very good term for what I'm feeling, but I can't think of anything else. It's a bit too dramatic and 'warning sign' for my taste. I'm sure there's a good psychology term for it, but I can't find it. No, this isn't going to be like something out of a bad angsty diaryland journal, or mopey like a Morrissey lyric. I mean, it's not healthy, but it's not so bad.
It's not suicidal urges or a deathwish. It's more passive than that. There's no death involved, even. I've had these feeling before, usually when I'm going through a transition (e.g. first few days of high school, first semester of college, etc) and nothing ever comes of it. I mean, to paraphrase O'Hara, sure, sometimes I think about it, but if I had actually had the balls to go through with it, I probably wouldn't have to think about it. (It's a loose translation of the O'Hara line.)
It's just that, a lot of problems would be solved if I were to get hit by a car.
Nothing fatal, don't get me wrong. Just a few broken bones, maybe a few days in the hospital, use of crutches for a few weeks. My problems would disappear. I wouldn't have to worry about finals, I wouldn't have to walk in graduation, and I'd have a good excuse for not having a job immediately after I graduate. I could take the next three weeks off and not do anything but watch tv and get some work done on my novel. It would be glorious.
Lately, I've had a variation on this theme, one where I come off more as a hero. There's been a sharp rise in sexual assaults downtown this school year, including what is probably the scariest thing I've ever heard (a woman was being raped behind a building by three men, and two guys were walking by and heard what was going on, and then decided to join in. I mean, can you imagine the pain and heartbreak not only of being raped, but after crying out for help, you see a bunch of guys come out of nowhere, asking what's going on, thinking that they would help only to have them join in?). Wow, that's a tangent.
Anyways, the thought goes like this. Late at night, I have walked a friend home from a bar (because I've taken to doing that with all of my female friends this semester for obvious reasons). I hear some screams in an alleyway, I ask what's going on in my most butch angry voice possible, and get shot in the stomach as the rapist runs off. Not only would that have the same results as the car accident (no finals, not walking for graduation, good excuse for not having a job) but I would be a hero, and the girl would be saved from her rape. Wouldn't that be awesome?
Now, you don't have to worry. I live so close to campus that there are days that I don't have to cross the street if I don't want to, and my fear of needles pretty much means that I wouldn't be actively planning any trips to the hospital.
It's not suicide. It's just a cry for attention. Then again, most suicides are cries for attention. It's more of a possible excuse for putting the next three weeks on hold and not having to deal with life until later. And when I think about it in those terms, its not so bad.
