Slipped Disc Caused By Persistent Cough

Veronika Decides to Die ...

On November 11, 1997, Veronika decided it was finally time to kill. She carefully cleaned the rented room in a convent, turned off the heat, brushed her teeth and lay down.

From bedside took four boxes of sleeping pills. Instead of crushing them and mixing in water, decided to take them one by one, as there is great distance between intention and action and she wanted to be free to repent halfway. However, each pill he swallowed was more convinced, after five minutes, the boxes were empty.

Not knowing exactly how long it would take to lose consciousness, had left on the bed, a French magazine, Homme, edition of that month, a newcomer to the library where she worked. Even though I did not have any special interest in computers, while browsing the magazine had found an article about a computer game (CD-Rom called him) created by Paulo Coelho, a Brazilian writer she had the opportunity to meet at a conference in Coffee Grand Union Hotel.

two had exchanged words, and she was over being uninvited by the publisher at a dinner to be held that night. But the group was large, and there was no possibility of further on any subject.

The fact of having known the author, however, led to the belief that he was part of his world, and read about their work could help pass the time. While waiting for death, Veronika started reading about computer science, a topic he was not interested at all, and this harmony with all he had done all his life, always looking for the easiest or what was at hand . Like that magazine, for example.

To his surprise, however, the first line of text out of her natural passivity (the sleeping pills had not been dissolved in the stomach, but Veronika and was passive in nature) and did that for the first time in his life, considered as true a sentence that was very popular among her friends: 'nothing in this world happens by chance. "

Why that first line, just at a time when he had begun to die? What was the hidden message that was before his eyes, if there are hidden messages rather than coincidence?

Below an illustration of this computer game, the journalist began his letter by asking, "Where is Slovenia?"

Nobody knows where Slovenia is, he thought. They have no idea. Still

Slovenia existed, and was out there, there inside, the surrounding mountains and the plaza in front of their eyes: Slovenia was her country.

He took his magazine was not interested now indignant with a world that completely ignored the existence of the Slovenes, the honor of his nation no longer commanded respect.

was time to be proud of herself, knowing she had been able, finally had courage and was leaving this life. What joy! And I was doing that as I had always dreamed of: using tablets, which leave no marks. Veronika

had been searching for nearly six months. Thinking he would never be able to get them, had come to think the possibility to slash his wrists, despite knowing it would end with blood filling the room, leaving a confused and concerned nuns.

A suicide demands that people think about themselves first, and then others.

was willing to do everything possible so that his death will not cause much disruption, but if you cut the veins was the only possibility, then, sorry, the sisters who cleaned the room and soon forgot the matter, or if it would difficult to rent again, at last, after all, even in the late twentieth century, people still believed in ghosts.

is true that she could jump from one of the few tall buildings in Ljubljana, but what about the enormous suffering that such an attitude would end causing his parents? Besides the impact of discovering that her daughter had died, would be required to identify a disfigured body: no, this was a worse solution than bleeding to death, then leave indelible marks on people who just wanted their own good.

"end up accepting the death of her daughter. But a busted skull should be impossible to forget. "

shooting, jump into the void, hanging, none of that was in line with their feminine nature. Women, when they kill themselves, choose far less gruesome ways, and slit their wrists or swallowing an overdose of sleeping pills. Abandoned princesses and Hollywood actresses have given several examples in this regard.

Veronika knew that life was always a matter of waiting the right time to act. And so it was: two friends, pitied for their complaints could not sleep, had succeeded in "every man for himself, two boxes of a powerful drug that was used by musicians from a local nightclub. Veronika had left the four boxes on your nightstand for a week, flirting with the approaching death and saying goodbye, without sentimentality, from what we call life.

Now was there, glad to have gone to the end, and boring because I did not know what to do with the little time remaining.

He thought of the absurdity he had just read: how could an article on a computer could start with a phrase such an idiot: "Where is Slovenia?"

As found nothing more interesting to worry about, decided to read the article to the end, and discovered the cause: this game was produced in Slovenia-that strange country that no one seemed to know where it was, except those who lived there, because of cheaper labor. A few months ago, when launched, the French production had given a party for journalists from around the world in a castle in VLED. Veronika

recalled hearing something about that party, it was a special event in the city, not just because the castle has been refurbished to as close as possible to the medieval atmosphere of the CD-Rom, but also by controversy which followed in the local press: journalists were German, French, English, Italian, English ... but no Slovenian had been invited.

The writer of Homme, who had come to Slovenia for the first time, surely with all expenses paid and decided to spend their time praising other journalists, supposedly saying things interesting, eating and drinking for free in the castle, had decided to begin his article with a joke that was much to please the sophisticated intellectuals of his country. Even he must have told some friends of writing false stories about local customs, or how to dress dowdy Slovenian women. Problem

him. Veronika was dying, and their concerns must be others, such as whether there is life after death, or what time would find her body. Still, or perhaps precisely because of that, the important decision he had taken, that article was bothering her.

He looked out the window of the convent faced the small square in Ljubljana. "If you do not know where Slovenia, Ljubljana should be a myth, he thought. As Atlantis or Lemuria or the lost continents that fill men's imaginations. No one would start an article, anywhere in the world, asking where was the Mount Everest, even though it had never been there. And yet, in the middle Europe, a journalist from a major magazine was not ashamed to ask a question of that kind, knowing that most of your readers know where was Slovenia. And more Ljubljana, the capital.

was then that Veronika found a way to pass time as they had been ten minutes and still not notice any difference in your body. The last act of his life would be a letter to that magazine, explaining that Slovenia was one of the five successor republics of the division of the former Yugoslavia.

would leave the letter with his suicide note. By the way, would not give any explanation about the real reasons for her death.

When they found his body, would conclude that he committed suicide because a magazine did not know where his country. He laughed at the thought of seeing a controversy in the newspapers, with people agree or disagree with his suicide in honor of the national cause. Y she was shocked to think about how quickly he had changed his mind because he thought just before the exact opposite: that the world and geographical problems and did not care about anything.

wrote the letter. The moment of good humor made me have second thoughts about the need to die, but he had taken the pills and it was too late to repent.

Either way, he had had moments of good humor like that, and he was not committing suicide because she was a sad and bitter woman who lived a constant victim of depression. He had spent many afternoons of his life wandering the streets of Ljubljana careless or watching from the window his room at the convent, the snow falling in the small square where the statue was located poet, I once had been almost a month floating in the clouds because an unknown man in the middle of that same square, had as a flower.

a person is considered perfectly normal. His decision to die was due to two very simple reasons, and was sure that if I left a note explaining it, many people would understand.

The first reason: everything in his life was like and, once the youth would decline, old age would leave irreversible marks, diseases come and alienate friends. In order to continue living did not add anything to the contrary, the chances of suffering were increasing significantly.

The second reason was more philosophical: Veronika read the newspapers, watch TV, I was aware of what was happening in the world. Everything was wrong, and she could not remedy that situation, which gave him a feeling of total futility.

Soon, however, would have the ultimate experience of your life, and it promised to be very different: death. Wrote the letter to the magazine, left the matter aside and concentrated on more important and more characteristic of what was living, or dying, at that moment.

He tried to imagine what it would die, but failed to produce any results.

Either way, I had to worry about that because I know in a few minutes.

How many minutes?

had no idea. But he loved to think he would know the answer to what everyone is asking: Does God exist?

Unlike many people, this was not the great debate inside his life. In the former communist regime, education officer said that life ended with death, and she ended up getting used to the idea. On the other hand, the generation of their parents and grandparents still attending the church, used to pray and make pilgrimages and was absolutely convinced that God

paid attention to everything you hoped.

At twenty-four, having experienced everything that had been allowed to live, and we must recognize that there was little. Veronika was almost absolutely certain that everything ended with death. Why he had chosen suicide: freedom, finally. Oblivion forever.

At the bottom of his heart, was the question: what if God exists? Thousands of years of civilization made of suicide a taboo, an affront to all religious codes: man struggles to survive, and not to surrender. The human race must procreate. Society needs labor. A couple needs a reason to remain united, even after the love is extinguished, and a country needs soldiers, politicians and artists.

If God exists, I honestly do not think, you know the mind of man has a limit. It was He who created this mess, where there is poverty, injustice, greed, loneliness. His intention must have been excellent, but the results are disastrous. If God exists, He is generous with those creatures who want to quickly move away from this Earth, and maybe even get to apologize for having to jump through here. That

go to hell taboos and superstitions. His religious mother would say, God knows the past, present and future. In this case, and had placed in this world with full consciousness that she would end up committing suicide, and would not be surprised by his gesture.

Veronika began to feel a slight dizziness, which was growing rapidly.

a few minutes and could not focus on the plaza that stretched before her window. I knew it was winter, must have been about four in the afternoon and the sun was setting quickly. I knew that other people continue to live, at which point, a boy who was passing looked at her window, without, however, having no idea she was about to die. A group of Bolivian musicians, where is Bolivia?, Why the magazine articles do not ask that? played in front of the statue of France Preseren, the great Slovenian poet to mark deeply the soul of his people.

Would I be able to listen to music coming from the square?

would be a beautiful reminder of this life: the sunset, the melody had dreams across the world, the room warm and welcoming, the handsome young man full of life that had happened, had decided to stop and now headed it. As he realized that pills were already taking effect, he would most certainly the last person to see.

He smiled. She returned the smile had nothing to lose. He waved, she decided to pretend I was looking at something else at the end of the day the boy was trying to go too far. Puzzled, he went his way, forgetting that face forever in the window.

But Veronika was pleased to have once again been desired. It was not for lack of love that was committing suicide. It was not for lack of affection from his family or financial problems or an incurable disease.

Veronika had decided to die Ljubljana that beautiful afternoon, with Bolivian musicians playing in the square, with a young man passing by her window, and was happy with what their eyes saw and his ears heard. But there was happier not having to watch those same things for thirty, forty or fifty years, it would lose all its originality by being immersed in the tragedy of a life where everything is repeated, and the day before is always equal to next.

stomach now began to spin and she felt awful. "How funny, I thought that an overdose of tranquilizers would make me sleep immediately." But what happened was a strange buzzing in the ears and the sensation of vomiting.

"If you vomit, will not die."

decided to forget the cramps, trying to focus on the rapidly falling night, the Bolivians, people began to close their shops and leave. The noise in the ear was becoming more acute and for the first time since he had taken the pills, Veronika felt fear, a terrible fear of the unknown.

But it was fast. Then he lost consciousness ...