And so it ends.

I’m not entirely sure why I’m bothering to do this but I reckon I owe the tiny bit of the world I know an explanation. By the time anyone notices I’m gone (and I hope it takes a reaaally long time.) and reads this, I’ll be swimming with the fishes or gracing a page of the rag as one unidentified female whose tobacco tainted blood has slowly coagulated on the sidewalk. Somehow, I’ve always known this day would come. Perhaps even before I was fully aware of the concept of death, I’ve always had this feeling that I’m not like other people, that I was born to die young. I guess if circumstances had been different and I had had a family that actually loved me and weren’t constantly teetering on the brink of abject poverty, maybe things would be different. But it would appear life and death are quite in agreement that I should die young. I’ve been through so much, been repeatedly deprived of true happiness, been punished by the people that should protect me and basically given the short end of the stick in every aspect of my miserable life, it’s actually a surprise I’ve held out this long. But not anymore. I would hold out a bit longer if I wasn’t so sure that this time there will be no miracle, no sudden influx of wealth to pay the reminder of my tuition and debts, no butterflies in my stomach at the first stirrings of true love, no exhilarating surge of a will to live, nothing, absolutely nothing. This time, when I finally decide on how I want to exit my sorry excuse of an existence, I will succeed and it will be the only thing I ever did flawlessly. My only regrets are: my stray cat’s well-being (I hope someone in the spirit of guilt at my demise takes him in.), the fact that I never got to travel the world and volunteer more, that I never got to live in the Netherlands, my unfinished novels that bear testament to my inability to do anything right, never learning to play the violin or paint or sing before a crowd, and the major contributor to the reason I’ll be drowning/pulling a Sherlock tomorrow morning: the fact that I came to med school instead of doing what I really wanted and studying English Literature. The dad always wanted a doctor, always lived beyond his means and taught me the same. I wonder if he’ll hide the fact that I died while in first semester with part paid tuition. But I digress, this is my abominably written ode to my sorry life, I will not insult it with unnecessary musings. So with no further delays, I bid adieu to you all, the creme dela creme of horrid families, the “friends” and the lovers that never were. Thanks for nothing. Life, you win. Tomorrow, the river/sidewalk of Budapest will claim one more soul. I hope there really is nothing in the afterlife and I can finally find peace.