Life Lost or Netflix and Chill by Meghana Indurti
I procrastinated a lot in college like most students typically do. You know, put off papers, job applications, studying for exams. Probably the biggest thing I put off though was my suicide.
Talk about lazy, I still haven’t done it. Clearly.
I was majorly depressed my senior year of college so that year for Lent, I gave up.
I seemed like an incredibly happy person. People still tell me now that I smile 90% of the time. I have resting happy face, so no one could tell.
There were still some signs though –I stopped eating as much due to loss of appetite, slept less because of insomnia, and as a result, lost a bunch of weight.
I remember my classmate saying, “Hey Meg, you’ve lost a lot of weight. What’s your secret gurllll?” and I wanted to say, “Clinical depression. Thanks Clarisse for noticiiing!”
Honestly, the reason I didn’t do it though was mostly logistical. Like there’s no app to kill yourself you know? You have to do it yourself. DIY suicide is not for me.
First of all, I had to decide where to do it. I thought about maybe I could do it in the school cafeteria. My last legacy could’ve been planting the seed that our shitty campus-dining hall had killed someone and then for the rest of time, college students could maybe eat corn that was actually yellow.
Then I considered the library. I could’ve staged it to look like I died of boredom; just have an unnecessarily detailed Global History textbook perched in front of me. Fuck you Professor Martin. You did this to me!
I decided my bedroom would be best.
Secondly, I had to decide when to do it. And even though I was disillusioned with human kind and the thought of crawling out of my covers to face this backwards society propelled me into an existential crisis…I still had FOMO. This guy had asked me to formal, and I kind of wanted to go. Spring break was coming up, and my friends and I were planning to go to Mardi Gras and I didn’t want to miss MARDI GRAS…it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Life is short.
I started flipping through my calendar and came across “Mom’s birthday” or “St. Patrick’s Day” or “series finale of How I Met Your Mother,” and that show dragged on for nine years. I wasn’t going to die before I found out about the mother (but talk about a disappointing finale, like not even worth living for).
I finally decided to do it before my Astronomy exam because I had missed a bunch of lectures, and the thought of cramming all that material made me want to kill myself.
Thirdly, I had to decide how to do it. Blood makes me really queasy and I’m afraid of needles, so therefore that was a no go. I’ve tried to skip out on shots that I needed to take because honestly I’d rather get the flu than the flu shot. I’m definitely at risk for HPV because I have not taken those shots either. But that’s ok because I decided HPV was my long game, my long-term plan. 1 out of 5 women here I come.
I started to Google ways other people had done the deed –maybe hoping that I was going to find a Yelp page with ratings and reviews telling me the most efficient and lazy way possible. Instead, I got bombarded with weird pop-up ads. They were all like, “You’re amazing” or “Somebody loves you!” or “Old Navy Summer Flip-Flops Sale!” (the third ad was the most depressing). As a woman I’m not used to nice ads. Most of them are like, “Your face is total garbage so buy Olay!”
There was one pop-up ad that was like, “Call this 1-800 suicide hotline and talk to someone who cares,”…like yeah, I want to contact a call center and be put on hold for a million hours. I’d rather kill myself.
Fourth, I had to write a letter, my send-off to the world, my piéce de résistance! Which was just a lot of pressure. So I put it off until the night before. Why would I treat this paper any differently than the rest?
So I was pulling an all-nighter writing my suicide letter –I decided to write it in Helvetica font because even in death I wanted to come across as chill and laid back –and I was Googling other suicide letters for inspo. I came across Sylvia Plath’s final words, and I was so impressed. Homegirl crushed it. It was a really good suicide letter. How was I going to top that?
Then I had the same thought every college student has at 3 AM after struggling to write a paper – what if I just plagiarized it? Or “paraphrase” it just enough you know? But I didn’t. I knew some English major would’ve caught it and been like, “Yo, this girl straight up copied Plath! What an unoriginal way to say bye to the world, smh. R.I.P though.”
It was a hard letter to write because I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to write an all-encompassing “I love everyone” letter, which is the equivalent of a generic Facebook status, or a letter that had an individual call-out to all the important people. The latter was just going to require so much patience and effort. I knew I was bound to forget someone and some distant cousin was going to be offended like, “Damn…I changed her diaper as a baby. She couldn’t even give me a shout out? R.I.P though.”
After I finally finished writing it, I cleared my browser history because you are supposed to do that. I also didn’t want my family to scroll through my computer hysterically sobbing and thinking like, “Were there signs?” only to find a web history of a lot more porn than they expected. Then they would’ve been like, “Wow, she was gross as hell. R.I.P though.”
Fifth, I had to decide on my last meal. My small college town offered premium choices like Dominos, Chipotle, and iHop –the trifecta of food. I thought of ordering pizza and leaving something behind for my roommates. But I wasn’t feeling pizza.
Then I considered Chipotle. I could get a baby-sized burrito, and guacamole this time because why not? Like, fuck it! Guac on me for everyone in this joint. I could’ve just waved my credit card and bought everyone guac like a millionaire at happy hour. But the line was very long, and if I didn’t already want to kill myself, this line would’ve made me do it.
So then I settled on iHop like everyone who has ever been to iHop settles on iHop. I got myself a burger and a diet coke because I was still trying to watch my figure. I didn’t want to look bloated in the pictures in case my crush saw me. He could’ve been like, “I should’ve hit that when I had the chance…R.I.P though.”
Finally, I went home, now full, and started watching House of Cards because I didn’t know what the afterlife was going to be like for streaming content. Then like a classic college student – I just kept hitting next episode and next episode. That plot thickens! I kept telling myself, “I’ll do it after this one.” I put off my own suicide. I Netflix and lived.
Fucking Netflix autoplay was gonna not be the death of me.