I cannot put my pain into words. I can’t cry. I deal with it alone all day and late into the night. There used to be catharsis putting it into words. Not anymore. The only relief left is to die. I don’t want to die, especially not alone and painfully. But it is a choice between that, and enduring pain that I no longer have the strength to face. I have no hope, no dignity, no fight left.
Words, words, words. The counterfeit of action. More contemptible than the suicidal gesture done to illicit sympathy. I am doing the exact same thing, yet without having to leave the keyboard, or face the displeasure and judgement of others. You can see I am full of judgement and scorn, all the more reason to die.
Another monologue, since engaging people is impossible for me now. I can barely even remember what it feels like to feel close to someone, to feel understanding and understood. Indifference, distrust, and judgement are the gifts I have to give. I wonder why I find myself alone?
Anyway I’m sorry if you’ve read these words devoid of any humanity or wit. The author is exactly as he comes across, and will hopefully have the decency to end his existence soon.