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** This thread has been reuploaded as a commemoration to @planmyfuneral. Due to the amount of sensitive detail originally included in this post, we've made the decision to keep this version away from the main forum so it does not get indexed by search engines, and to hide certain things behind spoiler tags. You can hover over underlined text to reveal the original contents. As a result, please do not circulate this verison of the confessional outside of the thread. Rest in Peace.

🔒 [FORUM] My Experience as a Volunteer

@planmyfuneral Member since 2021 | 34 posts | 5 apr 2021 @ 16:09:17 #09886304

In about three hours you’ll see me on the evening news, the poor, self-immolating b@stard who traumatised a bunch of bystanders. Sorry to the city morgue for contributing to the steady influx of John Does, and to the parents who’ll have to explain to their kids why people who look like homeless drug addicts sometimes spontaneously combust. I promise I’ll try to minimize the amount of pedestrians around.

For the record, I’ve never wanted to kill myself, but if I finally want my life to be mine again, it needs to happen. This company, this fµcking company, gave me the runaround for thirty-one days, teasing me with the idea that I would regain my freedom. They’ve gotten me killed, drugged, evicted, arrested, and eviscerated whatever chances I had of returning to my regularly scheduled program. But if I have to die, then it'll be on my own terms. No more dictating how I would live. No more exploitation. No more compliance or complacency, and I sure as hell wouldn’t be handing over my body for them to complete their study.

So before I take off, I’m making sure I serve up every little secret they thought would die with me, every single method and tactic this place has at its disposal to thoroughly eradicate your life beyond the point of no return. If Very Low wants my complete dependence, they’ll have to string it together from the remains of my charred corpse.

So now everyone here gets their proof, a whopping fifty-two pages of all the anecdotal evidence a place like this could ever dream of, and I couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend my final seven hours.

And hey, in a way, I could die as “me” again. Of course, without a name or fingerprints or even my original genetic makeup, I was about as “me” as the meal in my intestines could still be considered food, but the fact that I had control over my fate was “me” enough for me.

If you’re smart, then you’ll read this and go out there and live. Really. Go get a life. Go make some friends or get a job or something. Whatever makes you real. And stop floating through life like I did. Maybe someone will see this and take a lesson from me, to not be such a complacent moron in your mid-twenties, and then you won’t be typing up an expose in a public library after you haven’t bathed for thirteen days.

My fate was already set in stone years ago, but there were four missteps in particular that contributed to my demise -- starting with my decision to bike to work for my birthday.

@planmyfuneral Member since 2021 | 34 posts | 5 apr 2021 @ 16:09:34 #09886304

March 2nd started and ended with shards of glass raining down into my open eyeballs.

I don’t know why I ever trusted American motorists enough to think I should be fine to not wear a helmet, but true to form, I’d decided to tempt fate until fate found a way to lay me right out on my @ss. It happened so suddenly that I almost didn’t register what was happening. It appeared like an endless spin cycle of blue accompanied by brief flashes of visual stimuli: the handlebars I was just holding, my shoeless foot, the fragments of glass that follow me from where I hit the windshield, glinting in the sunlight like macabre little snowflakes. Even in death, I was witnessing a beautiful thing.

It was when my body was thrown from the hood of the car that I realized I was probably about to die. It really surprised me how quick the realization came to me; my brain was too concussed to properly process it, but my heart felt it for me.

I died like how you die in a dream: sudden, violent, spasming. It was all stars and shards of laminated glass, all shattered ribcages and severed nerves. There was an explosion of pain behind my eyes. Maybe it was the sensation of my occipital bone shattering.

If the sirens that were singing were intended for me, then I wouldn't know. The moment my head connected with the ground, I had already woken up back at home.

Now, a normal, rational person, upon waking up in their bed still breathing, might think one of these two things:

1. Wow, what a vivid dream!
2. Wow, better not go biking in Boston!

As for myself, I wanted to trace the source for that stabbing pain in my right eye.

Stumbling to the bathroom was more of a chore than it should have be. It’s a lot harder to maneuver your limbs around when you have a massive black spot in your peripheral vision. In addition to being on the verge of vomiting all over my comforter, the sound of my phone ringing off the hook was not doing much to help my budding migraine.

But I make it there eventually, only stubbing my toes two times, and steadied myself on the edge of the bathroom sink. Upon leaning in as close as I could get to the mirror, it was there I came face-to-face with a shard of glass embedded in my eye.

It freaked me out, mainly because getting that fixed in the ER was gonna cost a fortune. But also, the presence of glass here meant that me getting struck and killed was real. I already knew that, though.

There was another reason for my somewhat unperturbed reaction to losing my life. To understand me better, I need to tell you about a job I used to have.

@planmyfuneral Member since 2021 | 34 posts | 5 apr 2021 @ 16:09:34 #09886304

Back when I was young and dumb and fresh out of undergrad, I got extended the offer to come and join an internship at a clinical lab in the States. I couldn’t tell you why they approached me, but it resulted in about every authoritative figure in my life chirping in my ear to Go study overseas, it will be great on your resume, plus they are paying you to learn, blablablabla. I wasn’t really interested in working abroad, but what incentivized me was the difference in qualifications. Working in a lab without a Master’s degree minimum is practically unheard of in Sweden, and unbeknownst to my parents, I had no intention of going to grad school. So, my laziness and academic complacency were telling me that this was a good idea to pursue, mainly because it meant I could expend less effort in my mission to get a well-paying job. Plus, what sweetened the deal was their offer to sponsor my student Visa.

Now, if you’re smart, you’d probably see the red flags all standing at attention. What would compel some random small lab to sponsor some kid from abroad when they had an abundance of domestic undergrads? Sometimes I wonder how the fµck I graduated considering the amount of marbles rattling around in my head, because that line of questioning never occurred to me. Just goes to show you that higher education does not necessarily mean you’re wise.

Anyway, I instead figured that this was a lucky break. So, from the ages of 24 to 25, I interned with this company.

Now, what does this have to do with me dying? Well, since I’m no longer obligated to uphold the 38 minutes of contracts and NDAs they had me sign, I can blab about this to the high heavens:

This clinical lab was a child company of Very Low, and they’d been tasked with the researching and development of a pharmaceutical drug that helps with cellular regeneration. The drug stimulates cell and tissue production, encouraging rapid healing in the body to prevent death or irreversible harm. Basically, if you were injured or ill, grievously or otherwise, administering this drug fast enough could restore the body to a full, healthy version of itself as long as the drug had healthy, original cells to make copies from. I knew this was the real thing, because I’d seen it interacting with skin cells under microscope slides, and with small mice.

Now, I was under the impression that it’d be used in short-term applications, like ICUs and trauma centers and burn units and the like, and on paper, at least, that’s what it was for. If they wanted to distribute it in medical settings, then they eventually needed to progress to clinical trials with human participants. There was only one teensy, tiny, little problem:

As we all know, copies don’t do well getting copied. There’s only so many times you can replicate something over and over and over before it starts degrading, the way a VHS tape can only be copied so many times before it starts artifacting.

That is, effectively, what this drug was causing. Even after the drug repaired what it set out to repair, there was no way to turn it "off," so to speak. It would keep making duplicates of healthy cells to replace the "damaged" ones, and when it couldn't find anymore of them to repair, it would start making duplicates of those duplicates, copying over whatever issues already existed within the cell, leading to a sort of cellular degradation. Eventually, they'd keep multiplying under they overwhelmed the original cells in the body. If that sounds at all familiar, the word you're probably thinking of is cancer.

The field mice, regardless of how many times they died, eventually presented with the same spread of problems, anything from melanin deficiencies to psychiatric afflictions to conjunctivitis, so presentations in human was expected to be this or worse. If they wanted to conduct trials for this, they'd first have to figure out how to prevent the drug from referencing cells that were produced from copies, or at least find a way make it stop after it finished its original job.

Ergo, I’m thinking this is the kind of drug we won’t be seeing until 2040 or something, since they spoke about human testing as if it were a pipedream. There were just too many issues in its present state.

Three weeks later, my internship concluded, and honestly, it ended up being much more enjoyable than I'd thought it’d be, so much so that the thought of staying in Boston didn't seem like such a bad idea, after all. Additionally, the biochem nerd in me couldn't help but be enamored with the idea of seeing a drug like this hit the general populace. I wonder what that says about me.

The intern coordinator sat me down to tell me that they probably wouldn’t hire me at the moment, but per the clause in my contract, they’d reach out in the future with another opportunity. As a show of good faith, they’d gone ahead and converted my J1 Visa to an H1B a few months back, that way I wouldn’t have to leave.

Now, if you’re familiar with Visas in any capacity, you’d know that sponsoring an individual who wouldn’t even be an active employee was an awfully generous move for any company to do. Additionally, they’d converted my Visa without even consulting me, and since those take a few months on average to process, that would mean they’d started planning to do this not even halfway through my internship.

If you’re wondering what kind of fool happily accepts those kind of shady terms without looking into, well, here I am. Before you start b!tching and moaning at me about how stupid I am, consider the following: A) I won't be alive after I post this, so you'll be b!tching at nothing, and B) Yes, it was suspect, but by that point, I was less focused on the logistics and more or less relieved that I could stay in Boston for the next six years.

The only downside was, since they weren't hiring, I had about 60 days to look for a job before I'd be booted back to Sweden, so I needed to find another place to work STAT.

But holy sh!t, no matter how hard I tried, I could not find a job anywhere. At the time, I thought it was because I was a smoker, and most labs in Massachusetts had a very strict “no drugs” policy that extended to nicotine, but looking back on it now, though, I think Very Low had something to do with it. Either way, I didn't ponder on it for long, because I was too busy trying to be employed.

Eventually, I managed to find an opening at a mid-scale restaurant working back-of-house, and since I didn't consider the prep station the worst thing in the world, I figured I’d work there temporarily until I found another job.

But after a while…I dunno, I just didn’t see a need to leave. The only unfortunate thing about that internship was that it allowed the chance for the full extent of my bumassery to take hold, and over time, I was…I don’t know if “content” is the right word, but I was making enough to cover rent in my shoebox of an apartment, and I could use pocket change on all the Chinese takeout and weed I could dream of. Basically, I was going nowhere, but I was indifferent to it; maybe even happy. I was never one to expend more effort if it wasn’t needed, so if working at a restaurant enabled me to live comfortably, then who cared if it wasn’t within my prospective career? That attitude of complacency is why I never left, even four years later.

So, seeing this shard in my eye reminded me that, at some point, I'd had a different trajectory in life that I all but abandoned because I no longer felt the need to achieve it. Maybe the full lesson would've sunk in that day had my phone not been distracting me.

I only get phone calls from my manager, and since I'd taken the day off already because I thought I'd be hungover from my grand lonesome plans of a birthday celebration, there really wasn't anyone else it could be. They had already called eight times by that point, and because of that incessant pestering, I was ready to chew them out for contributing to my already splitting headache. So I picked up.

Herein lies my fourth problem: I answered the fµcking phone.

If you’re ever in a position where you feel like the biggest loser alive- you’ve got a dead-end job, you’ve got no friends, and you’ve got no real chance of going anywhere in life- and you get a phone call from an unknown number, it is absolutely imperative that YOU DO NOT ANSWER YOUR PHONE.

That age-old adage you guys have here rings evergreen. I was already screwed on account of me signing that contract with Very Low, but if you’re seeing a lot of yourself in me as you read this post, block that number as soon as you can, and promptly get a life. Answering a call from that number is the kiss of death. That is the final step in upending what remains of your life.

I remember this so vividly because, by the end of the call, I realized how royally screwed my life was about to be as a result of my lack of reaction to many things: the internship, the Visa, the reckless biking, and the fact that I didn’t meet their benchmarks for having enough “enthusiasm to live.”

Even though the drug’s got my memory spotty now, I’ll never forget these phone calls, my source of misery and frustration for the last thirty days of my life. Most of them follow the same format, but this one is their introductory message. Don't waste your breath asking to be transferred to a representative. You'll never get ahold of anybody.

[SPOILER] CLICK HERE TO REVEAL CONTENTS

@planmyfuneral Member since 2021 | 34 posts | 5 apr 2021 @ 16:12:17 #09886304

Hello, and welcome to VIEW LIFE! I see you're calling from [...]. Is that correct?

[...] Great, thank you for confirming! Please hold while we connect you to our volunteer helpline.

Thank you for choosing to participate in our clinical trial for REJUVENATE. As one of our happy volunteers, you'll be tasked with testing the efficacy of REJUVENATE by repeatedly- and fatally- injuring yourself in a variety of creative and unique ways for thirty-one (31) days. At the end of the trial period, you will be fairly compensated by VIEW LIFE for any adverse effects participation has on your livelihood.

As a thanks for your participation, you have been awarded with one question. You can say the number aloud, or chose your option by selecting the corresponding number on you keypad. Are you ready?

1. For What is VIEW LIFE?, press 1.
2. For Why is this happening to me? press 2.
3. For How long can I expect to be a participant with REJUVENATE? press 3.
4. For Why was I chosen to be a volunteer?, press 4.

There were about a million questions speeding through my head by now, but I figured I could get a chance to ask the rest of these later. More than anything, my most pressing question was wondering why I'd been considered a "volunteer." I pressed 4.

At VIEW LIFE, we pride ourselves on our careful consideration for all of our program candidates. After your brief period of employment with us in 2017, we evaluated you for your probability for success in life. Typically, we make our selections based on sociability, agreeability, chance of upward mobility, and tendency to take the initiative. You were chosen because you have none of these.

Therefore, we believe you were a best fit for our Volunteer Program, an extension of our employment opportunities after the completion of an internship. In lieu of monetary compensation, you will be working towards paying off the amount you incurred from your Visa sponsorship fees. Failure to comply will result in the permanent termination of your life.

In addition to your aptitude for failure, your expression of the redhead gene was crucial to our area of study, as we lack adequate data for how REJUVENATE affects redheads.

Remember, this was a courtesy call. For all future VIEW LIFE communications, a death is required in order to redeem one (1) question.

VIEW LIFE thanks you for your participation! We believe you will be invaluable in our mission to create the medical and technological developments of the future. We look forward to working with you for the duration of your trial. Before we go, we noticed that yesterday’s date matches the birthday you have on file. Please allow us to send our best birthday wishes.

Then, as if to add the sh!tty icing on the cake, a tinny version of "Happy Birthday" started playing in my ear. By then, though, I think my heart was too far up my throat for me to even find it funny.

Was this highly illegal, what they were doing? Oh, of course it was. Your employer can't threaten you to pay back your sponsorship fees. But I was about to contest this with me and what legal army? Besides, since they'd somehow found the time to drug me without knowing, and to move my dead body from the scene of a hit-and-run to my bed, thhen I had no doubt in my mind that they could easily make good on their promise to kill me. I know I hadn't done much with my life up until this point, but that didn't mean I wanted to die.

The absurdity of it almost made me laugh. I almost did laugh, actually, between the birthday song and the phone call. I'd be killing myself to get my life back? The irony would make anyone laugh. If you think I'm being blasé about this, just give it a few more paragraphs. I won't be laughing anymore.

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