two total choices: eliminate your map, or make the call
You now have two choices. You can either eliminate your own map for keeps—blades are the best, or else pills, or there’s always quietly sucking off the exhaust pipe of your repossessable car in the bank-owned garage of your familyless home.
Context
The fork the entire theme turns on: at the jumping-off place there are exactly two exits, suicide or surrender, and nothing in between. The scene's grim actuarial note — that addicts and alcoholics "compose over 70% of a given year’s suicides" — makes the choice literal, and Louise B.'s thwarted Hancock-Building dive is offered as its spectacular local myth. What makes AA possible is precisely how bad the alternative is: the blubbering 0200h. phone call is a humiliation you only accept because the only other door left is self-elimination. (The "eliminate your own map" idiom is maps-territory's; the suicide statistics and Louise B.'s dive share with depression-anhedonia — cross-refs, not re-landed.)