The first thing I did on the morning I decided to kill myself was turn on the TV. There was just something about the silence in the room. I didn’t check the channel. I don’t even remember caring. It was just noise.
With the TV in the background I took about fifteen minutes to screw the bike hook into the ceiling. The package said it was good for ninety kilograms or two hundred pounds. Then I tied a fresh noose. I had to untie the one I’d tied the day before. I’d been practicing for a week at that point, every morning without even thinking why.
I attached the rope to the hooks, dragged over the chair from my computer desk and stood on it. It was in the kitchen, the only part of my apartment tall enough to allow for this. I poked my head through the noose. My left hand was over the top of
