Thread by @Tales4rmdHearth

On the day I wanted to die, I woke up early and ran a mile. I came back home, made pancakes and watched my favorite TV show -Time of Death, while I ate my slightly burnt pancakes. My phone rang repeatedly but I didn't bother to check my caller ID.

I had a meeting slated for 11am -two hours before my death- so I knew it was definitely the office calling.
Some minutes after breakfast, I had a warm bath and waxed thoroughly, making sure no hair was left out.

Fresh out of the shower, I walked around my flat and idly wondered if there was a need to set things in order. Was there a need to write letters of regret to my family? No! I decided. I was in no mood to grant anyone closure, although I wished there was something...

scandalous hidden somewhere, perhaps dirty amorous letters, that will leave everyone speculating the reason for my death.

I remember the second I opened my eyes and it felt like a million galaxies burst into different pixelized colours. I remember smiling as I turned around and felt satisfied with the way blood and mud were beautifully splattered around my bridal lace negligee.

I had gotten up and watched the crowd 'chai' and 'hei' at my lifeless body. The women seemed genuinely distraught while the men desperately tried to push through to grief with ogling eyes. My white negligee didn't leave much to the imagination when I was alive,...

why would it leave much now?
To my disappointment, my landlady covers me up with her outer wrapper while bawling her eyes out. The bitch! Grieving like she will make a contribution to my funeral.

Knowing her too well, she will attend my funeral with plastic wares. Money isn't class. Tueh!
Bored with the scene, I head toward my flat. I need to see the height from which I had jumped. My flat was on the sixth floor and I knew before I had taken the leap,

that I wouldn't leave much mess-the reason I had worn white lace to magnify the little mess. And yes I was right, the height wasn't much but it did the job.
Now what? I look up to the sky,hoping to see someone coming to take me to my maker or even an illuminated path to my maker.

Nothing. So I wait.
While I wait, my brother and father arrive with a policeman to take away my body.Why they need a policeman is beyond me. I watch them enter my flat and search everywhere. It took me a while to realise they were searching for a note from me.

Haha, like I would make it that easy.
I was also there when my acquaintances −who call themselves my friends−showed up wailing and screaming their hearts out. It was genuine. I watched them hug my brother and father while expressing regret for 'not being there for me'.

My father reassured them that my death wasn't normal and mumbles something about foul play while dabbing his eyes. Poor poor dad, always playing at being rational.
I was still in my flat when all but my brother, left together after their 'cry fest'.

It had been amusing watching them trying to pinpoint the source of my so-called 'depression' and not surprisingly, all my speculations pointed to my being 'unmarried' at thirty-seven. Haha.

Now, I watch my brother wash out my breakfast dishes as he cries quietly. He is the only one who has ever truly known me. He is the one who had been my buffer between life and death. He tried to find a name for my fascination with death but never found a specific term.

He had recommended bible passages, doctors, pastors and even went as far as making me the godmother of his 2 years old daughter, just to give me a reason to stay.
Looking at him now, I want to hold him. I want to tell him it isn't his fault.

He did his best but the deep always called out to me. I have always wanted to feel dead and I really want to be dead, even though I'm bored out of my ghostly mind right now.

I want to tell him that he was wrong about death. It was no deep void but a heightened sense of soulful awareness with helplessness and resignation to everything around.
Instead, I watch him clean up my mess and take out the trash to the staircase corridor before coming back...

to retrieve my house keys from my coffee table. As he straightens up, he looks right at me and for a second I thought he could see me on the sofa.
He looks around the living room, dabs his eyes with both palms and walks stiffly towards the exit door.

Without looking back, he switches off the light socket and closes the door behind him. My flat is plunged into darkness.
As he locks the door, I can't help but wonder why the last few minutes hurt me more than my entire lifetime.

For the first time, I feel something akin to regret. Then I remember his wife and beautiful daughter and console myself with the fact that I haven't left him all alone in the world.
I hear his receding footsteps as I sit there in the dark waiting for my turn, waiting to be taken.

#FictionAt1am

Hi guys,
According to the World Health Organisation suicide is the number killer.A recent survey also shows that many Nigerians have committed suicide in the last few years than in previous times.
What are we doing to tackle mental health issues in Nigeria?
What are you doing?

@threadreaderapp pls unroll