Depressed about summer vacation being over?

Why not book a vacay to Switzerland – and kill yourself? #twofer


#YODO!

Indeed, Swiss assisted suicide’s been legal since the 40’s and then they made it a whole business around the 1998 when a company in Zurich called Dignitas was formed. And while there are a few states here in my home country that allow it (Oregon, Vermont, New Mexico, and Washington) and in other countries intrigued in other-side traveling, they’re a little more relaxed about their rules over there.

Thus, an onslaught of “suicide tourism” (sounds like some weird museum the Smithsonian would set up here in D.C.), led people into the welcoming arms of Dignitas who helped the folk get dead if they liked. Here at home, we do that picture up above – a tongue-in-cheek, aptly named method called EXIT but you really have to jump through hoops of red tape to pass their criteria. People inhale helium from a drawn sac wrapped round their head and go permanent night night, sans panic.


(Looks like Jimmy got some bad shit in his kit.)

But if that’s not your bag (#zing), you might try the foreign way – which is ingesting sodium pentobarbital.

Mmmkay. Two, very obvious points on a-Swiss-ted suicide:

First, of course I want the barbituates if I’m gonna die anyway. Duh.

Second, of course of-course I wanna do it in Switzerland. Why die in the same old place that made you wanna die?

You know, I get this practice completely. It’s easy to finger point at the depressed or pain-riddled alike if you’ve never suffered the kind of misery that wakes you up in the middle of the night to a straightjacket of panic, pain, or both. In these moments, “worth living for” seems like such a faraway, fantastical living-in-a-black-hole-outside-my-universe style inaccessible concept, that yes – death seems like the only option. For someone who experiences this not as fleeting sad moments but a baton pass of punishment every second they’re awake, that’s far worse. I may not be able to sympathize what it’s like going through a terminal illness, perpetual agony, and a life where moments of relief and consciousness are mutually exclusive experiences – but I understand enough to say “to each his own.”

That said, this does bring to mind that movie “The Guitar” – where a woman diagnosed with terminal illness throws the finger at a stringent and structured life, maxes out her credit cards, eats like a queen, and buys a nice guitar to start making music – all in the solitude of her apartment. In the end, her terminal disease magically disappears. It’s just as Hollywood as Hepburn, but we’ve all heard these miracle tales come true, haven’t we?

So, I wonder how many people who’ve never traveled overseas (Hi 🙂 ) before their auto-destruct program started running, go and book their one way ticket, land at their “final” destination, notice how fcking beautiful the rest of the world is, and say “Eff this, I’mma steal as much oxygen of this this planet as I can before I’m evicted.”


(“Wait – this was part of the package?
Can I reschedule my appointment with Dr. Kevorkian?
What’s that? $50 cancellation fee?
Oh, alright… I’ll come on in…”)

BTW – I’m totes gonna start saying, “Time for a Swiss holiday!” whenever life sucks.

’cause laughing at my own jokes always reminds me how hilarious and needed here I am.