I almost killed myself today. But no, that's not true either.

I almost stepped in front of a car today, except it wasn't the usual thing where I imagine what it might be like to just step out in front of the car and see what that's like, but an actual physical thing. In my mind, I had already done it, my body had accepted the command and I was already stepping off of the curb. I had to force myself through sheer will to stay on my side but in my head I had still taken the step. Like this: I take that infinite drop off the curb to the street as I never again touch the ground the same, the fender of the car striking me just below the hip as I bounce into the hood with incredible momentum, my sides denting the hood in a terrible crash of metal on flesh, splashing blood as my head bounces off of the shatter proof glass that now spiderwebs. As the car screeches to a halt I fly, my innards spilling as the hood ornament tears a hole through my stomach and I feel the intense amounts of pain but at the same time delight perversely in the feeling of flying and dying...my body strikes the ground, gravity doing its worst, and my skin literally dissolves as the asphalt grinds me to a bloody mess. The streets are littered with my blood.

But I didn't.