Paris 🇫🇷 to Madrid 🇪🇸,

So this is my documentation of the longest 38 hours of my life. It involves delays, deceit, anger, a terrible amount of B/O, free beer, theft and the most refreshing shower I’ve ever had. I’ll say that this day was quite possibly the most stressful day of my year, but there was a lot of laughs that day. So like every day when I was in Paris, I had to get up super early, this time it was so I could catch my flight to Madrid. Getting to the airport was super easy because there’s a bus that goes directly to Orly airport. This is the end of “running smoothly” for the day. I flew with Transavia; I was forced to check in my duffle bag as I wasn’t allowed to bring two bags onto the plane. Finding the place where I needed to check that bag was painstaking, and no one wanted to help me.

Next up, after paying 45 Euros to check the bag, I went to the assigned gate. To my surprise I was not selected for further screening, the woman with the hijab in front of me was. Okay, I’m almost 100% that happened because she had a small child with her and a stroller. I apologise for the cynicism. When I got to the gate, I noticed it had been changed, and I’d have to go downstairs. Once there we were shuttled to another part of the airport, from there we waited about an hour and then began to board the plane. There was PLENTY of room for everyone to bring two bags, but its a budget airline to they have to make money somehow. Here’s where all hell breaks loose, we had to wait an extra 45 minutes for 13 passengers to arrive as they’d missed the shuttle. There were some moaning and groaning but nothing bad. When all passengers were accounted for we began the safety checks and demonstrations. As we were backing up and the engines were about to get going, we lost all power, and the plane stopped, and the lights turned off. It’s only after that I realised that we could’ve been in the air and fell out of the sky. We waited another 45 minutes while they tried to fix it, they couldn’t.

Back to the terminal where we were told to wait until 3:30, I was on holiday so whatever, I could expect. 3:30 comes, we’re told we’ll be fed and taken back to the main terminal, and we’d await further instructions. We were not fed well, and there was a PlayStation in the terminal that I didn’t see, so I sat there like a shmuck reading. By the time we’d gotten fed and were waiting in the terminal, it was already 5 pm. People were pissed off, and some had even left to take the train or book another flight. Around 5:30 I received an email saying they’ve put us all on another plane and it was leaving at 7. When we got to the gate they’d changed that time to 7:45, sorry, “Around 7:45 pm.” I sat there talking to some people, angrily tweeting as I’d begun to … let’s say, expire. I was also a little concerned my hostel wouldn’t hold my reservation, but an email fixed that. When 8:30 there were legitimate yelling fits, and some people had to be held back, there was also no plane in the dock. I had no choice but to sit there and watch Donald Trump videos; it’s a hobby of mine. The guy is such a dumbass; it’s almost hard to believe.

At 9:30 we boarded the plane, so it’s all good right? Wrong. The plane was a lot bigger than the one we were supposed to take, so there were no people in the back. This would affect the way the plane took off, it was to front heavy, and that was dangerous. So began the task to move people around, this caused another delay and some more yelling. I felt horrible for the flight attendants who were just doing their jobs, and I’ll admit they did a great job. At 10:48 we finally left Paris and were treated to complimentary food and drink. The flight attendant gave me five beers, one I drank and 4 I gave to random drunk people on the metro. At the airport I met an older Aussie gentleman named Peter, he was in Madrid for, and I’m quoting him here, “Why the fuck not?” This dude was pretty old, so good for him. I ended up meeting someone else on the metro, and he helped me get to the hostel. We got off at the stop, Sol which is the central hub. There were people everywhere, drinking, dancing and enjoying one another’s company. Madrid, after being there for about an hour I could tell that it was a party town. When I got to the hostel, I smelled like crap and just wanted to shower, that’s exactly what I did. When I woke up I tried to watch the highlights of the Habs game, they suck. I ended falling asleep in front of my laptop, and that’s when someone stole my MacBook. I was on the top bunk, asleep in in front of it and was out for about half an hour and gone! I couldn’t believe it, but hey what can I do? I filed a report and went on my first day in Madrid a little disappointed, but I could’ve had my passport or wallet taken.

Suicide ⚱️⚰️

I’ve had this post written for a while now. I’ve got this shoe box at home with hundreds of doodles, poems, and scribbles in it. I guess I was a bit of a teenage misanthrope. A few weeks ago I went through that box, just to take that stroll down memory lane. A lot of what was in that box came from a place of hate, bitterness and sadness. I didn’t really have a reason to be there but it definitely reflects what I thought I was. Seriously in high school I just went through an identity crisis, didn’t really fit in anywhere, but I got along with everyone… Mostly because I was able to adapt to my surroundings. Its like when I go to Trinidad, I develop an accent so no one can tell that I’m Canadian.

Anyway, looking through the box I found something I thought I’d destroyed, a suicide note. Now its no secret I’ve had my struggles and thats all fine and dandy. I’m here for a reason, I’m here because I have a greater goal and I intend to see it. A friend of mine asked me though, what goes through your mind when you decide to commit suicide? I can only speak to what I went through. Every case is different.

Heres what went through my mind. Keep in mind I’ve tried twice and failed twice. Only after the second time was I happy that I was still here. The first time I wrote a note and everything. I thought about it every day. So what was going through my mind? I just didn’t see much worth in the person I was. I’d gotten fat, I wasn’t going to class which resulted in terrible marks (Go figure) I didn’t have any friends, and all I did was drink alone in my room and do drugs. I let myself go, let things spiral. I looked at myself every morning and hated what I saw. I felt alone, like no one cared and I didn’t know how to tell anyone. Cliche right? I woke up every morning in the dark and alone. I woke up every morning tired and sad. I couldn’t shake the tiredness, the lonely feeling, it was paralyzing. It didn’t help that I didn’t talk to my roommates and ask for help. I made up my mind to do it and thought about how to do it, what was the least painful way? I chose drugs, thought it would make me feel nothing and just slip into nothing.

You definitely think of all the pain and suffering you’re about to unleash. You’re 100% aware of it. For me at least I kept thinking that my pain and suffering was and had reached a point where I didn’t care if I hurt everyone else. Deciding to take your own life is a hard fucking decision to come to. And sure you might be thinking that the things I was upset about were nothing, but to me they were everything. Everyone is different, whats important to me may not be important to you. Thats why I say every case is different.

So do I regret it? No. I used to. I was especially upset when a friend of mine decided to take his own life a few years later. But I don’t regret it. It’s given me perspective, makes me think that I’m obviously here for a reason. I look back on it and think of how bad it was and look at myself now and have I ever come a long ass way. Below is the note I wrote, I can still feel the pain in those words but I can also see that none of it was true. I’ve got three tattoos, two of black birds. The birds represent the depression. I got them to remind me that no matter how hard the day is, all I have to do is give those birds a reason to fly away. Yes, some days thats easier said than done. But I have faith in myself that I can and will do it.

“To whom it may concern. I have grown tired of living; I see no point if there will be nothing but heart break and hardship. Religious people say it is all part of God’s test. Fuck that! God stood over me and watched my heart get ripped out and didn’t help. You can control one thing in life, your own death and I think it’s time. My friends will get over me, they won’t really notice. I am an outcast. When I’m with them I am most alone. They all have music that bonds them together. P and C have each other. I call P my best friend but we don’t talk anymore, well hardly. C is my oldest friend but sometimes I have to remind myself that she can’t be there for me. S is my best guy friend and I can talk to him about everything and I trust him with my life but I’m not his problem. He’s a genius, he’s a busy and man he has his own demons. That guy is going to do great things. Mom and I are roommates, we don’t talk, she won’t understand. Nothing seems to go right; I get a few steps ahead and get knocked back fifty. Nothing lasts; I have forgotten what it feels like to be happy. School isn’t going my way because I’m an idiot. What am I going to do with my life? Write? No, there are a million writers out there, and they are better than me. I’m fooling myself saying I can get a Ph.D. and become a curator. I’ve always had the vision of meeting a girl having that dream job, having kids… I’d make a great dad. I never had mine so I’d always be there for my kids, I’d make sure that they knew that I loved them. I’d be there night and day. But you know what? I’d probably die, cause that’s what the men in my family do, they fucking die before they can leave an imprint. I guess I will never met that girl or have kids… to be honest I’m not worth it. This isn’t anyone’s fault so I don’t want people to blame themselves; there is nothing you could have done to help me. Some people are just unhappy and I’m one of those people. I’m my own worst enemy; I know nothing lasts… well except this feeling. I’ve never been good enough. Not a good son, friend, person. I want to die happy … well I want the illusion of blissfulness and happiness. Heroin makes me feel that, makes me feel like I never could… fucking peaceful. So when you ask me how are you going to do it? I don’t want to hang myself, or shoot myself, or toss myself in front of a bus, or jump off a bridge, I just want to die. I don’t think this is what life is supposed to be like. I know its not what its supposed to be like.