25 years. At this point, I don’t have the energy to even write. I’m not allowed to think. I’m not allowed to sleep. I’m a mindless drone that spends every cursed second of his life working like a slave for the benefit of those I hate. I’ve held on this long, because I held out hope that one day, things would change. One day, maybe I would be free. One day, maybe life would be fair to me, and give me a chance for a change. I’ve been chained to these hateful people since the day I was born, and I thought maybe one day I would get a chance to start my own story.
But I realize, after 25 years of struggle, that day will never come. There’s only one way to walk away from it all, and that’s a bullet through my brain. I’m making plans to do it, though as usual there are a million hurdles to jump over due to where I live and the laws here.
I really do give up, I really, really do. Every single hope has crumbled to nothingness. Every lukewarm feeling that gave me some semblance of warmth is cold emptiness now. I hold a sort of mild, hollow hatred for all living things, and I long for the stillness of death every day. Even my fears have all faded into a calm, unmoving dread, a peaceful terror.
I am already dead. Just a walking corpse. At this point there is no life left in me. When I finally die, it’ll just be my body and brain. The rest of it is already gone.