Goner

I ain’t living long like this. No one or nothing could help me. It’s been a decade, nothing yet. There are holes in the floor of my mind, like those in a medieval dungeon floor — Making it difficult for me to crawl back up from the pit. I feel worse than numb. The medicines only fucked me up real bad. I can’t even begin to talk about them for I’ll have to pen an entire fucking essay on it. Bruh. Oh, the ECT made me lose my fucking memory. Sure, it did help me with my severe mania episodes, but it worsened my OCD and anxiety. And Ketamine Infusion Therapy sounded cool, but ‘twas only momentary. Nothing helped. Nothing helps. Constant panic attacks and PTSD episodes over trivial matters. I’m depressed. I’m paranoid. I’m neurotic. What-fucking-not. One of my most favourite fictional characters, Dr. Hannibal Lecter says, “If you weren’t  neurotic, Franklyn, you’d be much worse.” Well, guess what? I’m much fucking worse already! There’s no point beyond this. It’s said —

People who have psychotic episodes are often unaware that their delusions or hallucinations are not real, which may lead them to feel frightened or distressed.

Well, I wasn’t aware as well and was in complete denial about it. But now I am. I’m psychotic as fuck. Psychosis sucks. It’s morbidly awful. My psychiatrists were right after all. I may sound dumb, but why aren’t there methods to legally kill a person like me and ease the pain if the person involved consents to it? Why do we value a human’s life so fucking much? Ugh. Kill me already! I tried killing myself more than thrice, but joke’s on me; I’m a fucking loser! If I could, I would hire a hitman to kill me. I just… I want to go home. I want to die.