Short Lives Make the Least Impact

“My name is unimportant. I am neither male, nor female. My age has no relevance to my grief.

Consider me a faceless representation of depression. An anonymous death seeker. A hopeless nobody.”

I’ve spent my life doing everything for everyone. I worked my ass off for ungrateful bosses. I threw my social life away to finish worthless years of schooling. I pushed away possible love interests to better the odds of my friends. My entire life has been a waste of time. A waste of space on this decaying, dying world. There is no hope for mankind, and just the same, there is no hope for me.

We live in a world where evil triumphs good. Where good intentions always have an evil backbone. Where money corrupts because we let it control us. And most importantly, where people are a destructive parasite on a body that has done no harm to us, but that we continue to infect with our diseases.

Tell me: who in their right mind could possibly enjoy living in such a place?

Men and women are trash. They are scum. Men use women for sex. Women use men for money.

We are so obsessed with our lives that we fail to consider the lives of others. We kill because it feels good to be in control. We steal because it feels good to have something that someone else does not. Left over food goes to the family pet, and not the city poor.

We bomb the innocent. We rape virgins. We torture animals. Destroy entire ecosystems with our greed, and our lust for power.

I do not want to live here any longer than I already have.

If you are still reading, you do not surprise me. You see, as human beings, we love to hear about others’ misfortune. We love to hear about others’ dispaire. Isn’t that why you are reading this on a pro-suicide website? Because you anticipate what I’m going to say. You assume that I am going to kill myself.

You assume correctly.

If you so choose to read, I will retell my regrettably dull, and lifeless existence, and then perhaps you will understand. Perhaps you will join me.

 

I was born not long ago. I had a considerably normal childhood, however I was forced to grow up quicker than most. My parents divorced while I was young, and I was forced to choose where I wanted to stay. I chose to stay with my mother, for the simple fact that I couldn’t bare to part with my sister.

My sister later became a drug addict and abused me until she was old enough to find a career on the street corner, selling her body for cocaine and heroine.

My mother ignored me. She married a man that I could not stand. If there was such thing as auras, his would be the darkest, most gruesome black known to man. He was evil. He touched me, on multiple occasions. My mother never believed me. I spent 13 years in the same house with him, dealing with his perverted ways.

My depression started in the sixth grade. I started cutting myself. Of course, this got progressively worse. However, the strangest thing to me, especially now that I am contemplation taking my own life, is that when I cut myself, it was never a suicide attempt. It was just a quest for release.

In school I was a straight-A student, but I was always concerned about my self image. I suffered from weight, acne, early puberty. I had no friends. I was secluded. I lived in the shadows of the people around me because I hated being seen.

I was a nobody, and I liked it that way.

In high school I never dated. I never went to parties. I never drank alcohol. I never did drugs. I worked hard, and studied every chance I got. I graduated with the third highest overall average in my entire school.

After graduation I got a dead end job. My mother split with her husband. I was forced to pay bills with money that I did not have. My plans of going to college were shattered, because suddenly I wasn’t a kid anymore. I had responsibilities. I had to pay to survive.

From that moment, money controlled me.

I got laid off. Moved again. I met a man. Lost my virginity to him. Thought I loved him, and then realized that he wanted me for sex, and nothing more.

I secluded myself from the world even more. I didn’t leave my home. I wasted away to nothing. Became anorexic; not because I wanted to lose weight, but because I liked the idea of dying, but wasn’t quite ready to die yet.

I continued to see the man whom I thought I loved. I continued to lose weight. I continued to hate myself more and more. I degraded myself, until I was just an empty shell for him to fuck. I didn’t care. Because I didn’t care about life. I was numb to his sex. I was numb to his abuse. I did not live, I merely existed.

Finally, I decided enough was enough. Something snapped… something deep in my subconscious. Up until recently, I contemplated susicide. I even planned my suicide multiple times, step-by-step, but I knew I would never carry them out.

But now is different. I see the evil in this world. I see the torment that follows me wherever I go. There is no changing the world, and no changing my life. Things will not get better. My life will continue to be meaningless, and I will continue to suffer.

Why suffer anymore? When release is so simple… and so close.

 

I hate the world, and all who inhabit it. I hate the smells of the city. I hate the sound of traffic. I hate the hum of my computer as I write this.

And I hate you, reader. I hate you for living. I hate you for reading this. I hate you for judging me.

I hate you because you are what caused this world to burn in its eternal fire. Not you as an individual, but you as a race. WE as a race.

 

Fuck all of you. Fuck us! Fuck this world, this planet. We have no future. We have no worth.

Tonight is my last night alive. I am done with this torment. I am done with this repulsive, putrid world in which I was so carelessly thrust upon.

Tylenol 3; an entire bottle. It’s a beautiful thing. They are small, yet powerful.

Jack Daniels for taste.

 

Bottoms up.