My Farewell Letters To Myself

  January 4th, 2019 by CheRup

I have an application on my phone called the Luna Diary. That is where I write what I’m feeling today, but it’s not like any ordinary diaries where you will read what happened today and the extraordinary revelations that happened in the current time. What I actually write in there are my suicide notes from every time I am having an episode. Similar to today, I am currently experiencing one while writing this description. Since my phone is broken, I’ll just have to make this as my temporary Luna app. I guess no one will even take notice to this anyway. (There is an audio file below, might as well play it for additional atmosphere.)

 

 

Here is an example of a suicide note given to the hospital by myself. This was on the 26th of November 2016. The email was dead anyway so no one was able to read the note. So I’ll just share it here. Here goes:

The hospital makes me wonder why I make it as my comfort zone. I have been in that hospital since I was small because of my asthma. More like I’m still asthmatic, but here’s the main point. I am very suicidal these nights, I have already visited a psychiatrist there, her name is Dr Violeta. Yes, she consulted me some pieces of advice, even gave me an anti-depressant, but it was no help at all. I have this Doctor since I was young, I consider her as a family, even her secretary,¬†Emmy. The doctor, Dr Rhodora, is like family to me. She was there all the time, of course, she is a doctor, but I have this feeling that I feel very comfortable when I am in the hospital.

Anyway, I feel I’ve gone crazy or maybe worse, completely mad. No, I don’t do drugs, that will be my most epic failure of all. An asthmatic doing drugs? Well, prescribed drugs, but not that psychedelic stuff. I can’t stop hurting myself unless I feel the warmth of the hospital community. They’re the greatest. Why do I prefer going to the hospital than a luxurious hotel?
Well, going to a luxurious hotel makes me pay a lot of money, but the hospital, still going to make me pay money, but they can help me treat this illness. I hope.
So here’s my main point. Tomorrow, I’ll be visiting the hospital, and I hope we can deal with my illness with comfort, I hope (sorry for the redundancy) Can I be able to be hospitalized or to be confined with this illness? There is still no use of asking because I won’t really take “no” as an answer.
Oh, how I reminisce the days and the nights where I was struggling for oxygen, ride the ambulance, feel the dextrose (Ventolin) running through my veins, chatting with the resident doctors, nurses, and especially the hospital staff. I remember this guy, who has a moustache, he is the one who pushes the wheelchair. I remember when I was 7 or 8, I was about to go to my room (the new building), the elevator was out of order so we need to use the stairs, then the “wheelchair pusher” asked me, “Are you going to walk or your father will lift you up to the room?” I didn’t understand anything at all because I don’t how to speak or learn English before. I really wanted to be lifted by my father because I can feel the tiled floor so cold. Very cold. Then, I replied to him. “Maybe, walk (because that’s the only English term I knew that time).” So the guy helped me stand up and made me walk to my private room. I was surprised, but I wasn’t angry at all because I can see that he is working hard. Not working hard, but he is making me feel better. He is smiling and all, even though he was also pushing the oxygen tank at the same time.
It so happened where I was a little bit disappointed because I was been confined and been taken to a quarantined private room because all private rooms where occupied. The room shows a strong pink color with baby animals drawn on it. The worst part is that the door leading to my room has a CAUTION: QUARANTINE sign and a door with a small glass window. The bed was also small (I’m tall, 6″1 now, before 5″9 or something). I can’t stretch enough, but I was transferred to a better one. It was a semi-executive room! Yay! It has a refrigerator, a couch, and a better bench.
I have lots and lots of good memories there. I can’t tell you all, but these are the best ones. Can I be confined there? I don’t know. I just don’t want to be this mentally ill. I hope that everyone in the staff can read this. I will be very thankful. Whoever is reading this, please let the staff know about my story. I will be very happy. Life is Strange, seriously. I hope I can stay inside that comfortable, heartwarming hospital. THANK YOU!
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