Nothing ages the soul faster than unrequited love. It consumes us the way waves would a bottle cast out to sea, with a message never to fall upon adoring eyes. Trapped and drowning in the voluminous expanse it’s easy –and almost expected– for one to give up. To take one last deep breath without the pressure of exhaling.
The choice to take one’s own life isn’t about attention or self mutilation, it’s the serenity that lies in being able to choose your last moment. The final page authored by you that lives on long after your book is closed. In some regard it’s truly the only way to defy death. Suicide has no victims, only those who ignore probability, conquer all variables and embrace their own mortality.
That being said, it can never help us find happiness. It will never fill that void left behind by what you seek.
Beyond everything that makes us who we are –humans confused and tormented by our surroundings– we are alive. Each of us, a single life finding our way through the miasma left behind by our parents’ vices. The stench of alcohol that plagues us; raised voices that ring in our heads. It’s only so long before the simple fire that burns within us all, melts through the wax that is our foundation. Our aspirations and passions fall to the dark and we stop searching. Accustomed to the grey-scale that envelops our world, we refuse to venture out to find what fuels us.
Whether the perils before you are water or fire, find what keeps your wick alight before you snuff yourself out.
Don’t Starve.