I’ve sat here, countless days, haven’t left the house, haven’t DONE anything, I have no purpose, nobody is willing to hear my cries, even my best friend, whom I thought was exactly like me cant see anything wrong. Im leaving to go to Japan in 12 days, and after that, when I get back, Im going to go see her and then, then Im done. Im done not having a reason to live, im done being hurt by everyone, im done with my deadbeat family who always bash on me. there is no way that im going to sit here and let this happen. so, on August 9th 2018, I will release all of my research, programming, papers, and hard drives to the internet for anybody to use, then I will disappear and monitor where it all goes for a year or so and then off myself. this is the final straw, if nothing happens between now and then, than thats it.
My Suicide Note
I dont want to talk about it.
I wake up every day with this gnawing feeling. I try to push it away, but it gets worse.
It doesn’t stop. This feeling.
It hurts. It stings. All the heartache, the stress…it gets to you.
But all I ask, is that you understand.
Its deep depths of darkness, and loneliness. Like a boulder of weight always on your back. Slowly hurting you.
It doesn’t stop unless you make it.
When you die you cease to exist, so why fight if when your dead it ll all not exist.
Some took the leap. I really do envy them.
Please just understand that I’m not trying to be “selfish” or “hurtful.” I just want that boulder to stop hurting me.
I just want to love happily.
It’s hard to go through life when your own brain has turned against you.
that feeling of utter hopelessness that can so easily consume a life.
Getting out of bed is a struggle.
Taking a shower is a struggle.
Looking in the mirror is a struggle.
Yes there are people that love me but I could easily rationalize it and say that they were better off without me or that it wouldn’t matter to me if i was dead,
God I know it’s selfish to put my loved ones through that, but at the same time it was so goddamn difficult to stay alive just for the well-being of others, depression is a *****.
giving myself a chance to heal is the kindest thing I could do for myself. When your own mind betrays you it’s hard to get back up again.
So at some point, you stop caring.
You look at your life, day after day, and see what it is. You look toward your future and see what it is. It’s work, it’s hardships, it’s waking up in the morning and wishing you could just sleep the rest of the day.
Its crying,and crying, and crying
It’s staring at the wall thinking nothing for hours just in pain
It’s wanting to just disappear and die
Its being aware and knowing how small you are and what you have and haven’t done and the guilt of everything you’ve ever done.
But you’ve been taught that it’s worth it.
You’ve been told that so often that you tell that to yourself.
You get up in the morning, you work, you endure the pain because your loved ones, your fun times, life’s beauties make it worth it.
You hate it all.
I acknowledge life’s joys, my loved ones and all the other wonderful shit that I don’t deserve. I have friends and family who would die for me, and i would die for them. I’ve experienced moments that I will cherish forever.
I see things so mystical and beautiful that they give they give me a sense of a bigger picture, a sense of paradise. Sometimes I can sit back and just know, just feel, that life is good.
Then there are other times. Times when I have everything and I know it.I know that life is good, but I don’t feel it anymore. I still have the great moments, but you begin to question if they are worth it. If the day-in/day-out struggle is worth it. You’re so afraid of the answer that you dismiss it until one day i answer it for myself.
times the feelings are so lost, i don’t care. I don’t care about how ungrateful I seem. I don’t care about the good times. I don’t care about beauty, at least not the same way I did before.
I stop caring about consequences because consequences only matter in a world where they will be realized.
In my depressed and suicidal state, there will be no realization of consequences because there is no future,
no light at the end of the tunnel
and there will be no better days
therefore, how my actions affect the future is irrelevant.
Because in my mind there isn’t one
Now, imagine yourself and the people you love.
Bring to mind those you love most of all, whom you would do almost anything for, maybe even give your life for. Those for whom you would drop everything and rush to their sides.
Imagine what it would take for you to suddenly not care, to become numb to those people, their feelings and their needs. Envision what awesome power would be necessary to transform you into someone simply indifferent to leaving those you love behind.
Depressed me does not care about taking his own life because, to him, any part that has ever felt “alive” is long-since dead, and he is simply ready to remove the husk from life support.
Most nights, I sleep normally. Yet, I still wake feeling tired. I get up, and I go through the motions with no passion, searching for something to keep me distracted from the growing emptiness inside. Sometimes, that emptiness begins to show on the outside, and people ask me if I’m all right.
I assure them that I am and put on a better mask.
I remember what it’s like to be happy. It isn’t difficult for me to act. Sometimes, I hope I’ll be able to fool myself, but I never do.
Some nights, I lie awake and wish the next morning will never come.
I wonder how long I can keep going while the darkness inside of me grows.
I dont want to talk about it.
It’s a constant continuous fail, it is breaking me apart. It is getting extreme difficult day by day to manage myself. Do I deserve this, I ask this question often. The idea of god has gone out of my mind. He is not listening to my prayers, I ask the simple livelihood necessities and I’m still devoid of it even after all my efforts.
It’s the constant failures , that’s pushing me down. People say everyone has different timeline and things happen according to that. But my timeline is soo full of sadness ,that it is making me impossible to wait in my timeline.
I was a decent bright student, now I’m jobless. I’m standing in a place where I have to start from a scratch. My dreams are shattered. My sexuality is unclear. I’m a coward.
I struggle everyday, a small happiness always comes with a wrap of sadness. I accepted my life as it is. But when I stand in a position where I can’t even earn my own bread even after putting all my efforts into it.
My life has no meaning, no purpose, not even a slight feel of satisfaction. There is no point to live this life. My family loves me, it takes sometime for them to accept my reality. I just wanted peaceful life. I prayed for small things. I helped others. I put my efforts. I never use others for my comfort. Dayafterday it’s the same. Happiness fails
I know. I know everyone says suicide isn’t the answer. I know I wouldn’t want my friends to commit suicide. I know this will hurt you. I know this will remind you of Sean. I know this will disappoint all my friends, my teachers, and my family.
And I know this is self centered and entitled; it’s pretentious and trying to sound too deep, but I don’t believe I was meant to have a happy life. I don’t think I was meant to grow old. I was meant to die early on, eventually forgotten.
I don’t believe in fate, and I don’t believe in god. I only believe in god when I’m hoping something will go my way. This will hurt you. I’m not dumb enough to forget that I have family, I have parents. I know they loved me. But my very existence was a mistake, only nurtured because of a passing interest.
My mother used to get dogs on impulse, blinded by their cuteness, but she’d eventually give them away. I guess I’m something like one of those dogs. I don’t blame my mother for this; I believe she just made a lapse in judgment. I wasn’t planned, but because of my mother’s lapse of judgment, I was born.
My parents… I know they love me, and I am not blaming them for this, don’t believe that I’m blaming you, but I’m glad they won’t have to deal with me. I know Marriette would never want me to commit suicide; she’s probably okay with my presence, but I’m obviously never going to be close with her.
I know I’m withdrawn and socially awkward. I never go out and do things with you, but I hope you’re able to understand I struggle to get out of my bed. Whenever I can, I daydream and try to disappear through my imagination.
This is cliche, but my brain seems like it hates itself. I have so many different things running through my brain, all nonsensical, but I can’t stop it. I only go into writing and drawing and animating and painting and playing instruments because I have so many ideas in my head that I have to force them out. The problem not only lies with my talkative brain, it lies with the fact that I hate everything I create. With each line etched into the paper I feel more self hatred.
I don’t make friends. Yes, I have friends, more like I have one friend, but they all fall apart. I can only make fleeting relationships; never meant to last long. I am simply a girl you will hang out with at the movies, but you’ll forget about me, and remember the movie. I don’t blame my friends. I don’t open up, and I’m very annoying. I take long to respond, and I have trouble comprehending what people are saying. My personality changes way too much depending on the person I’m hanging out with, and I seem fake. I get obsessive and weird. I am inconsistent with my humor; one day I am a comedian, the next, a bland piece of cardboard.
Lets not even begin with love. No one will ever be able to romantically love me. I haven’t figured out what my sexuality is, or anything like that, but I can already tell. I will hold hands and bump noses with someone, but then they’ll tell me about their crush. I know love is a mixture of hard work and chemicals in your brain, but either I’m unmotivated, or the chemicals in my brain are on break.
I know you won’t want to hear this, but I’ve tried before. I’ve tried committing suicide before. I’ve made so many plans, and I’ve done so much research. The first time I tried was two years ago. I wrapped an electrical cord around my throat, tied to the bar in my closet, and lifted up my legs. I was in the middle of just testing the waters, toe-ing the line between death, and actually going through with it. I don’t know what happened next, just that I woke up an hour later on my floor with my closet door on me. The electrical cord came undone, and it ripped a small piece of my skin away. I still wonder if it left a scar.
I don’t remember what I felt when I was choking, but a few days later I had a nightmare where I suffocated to death and it felt so realistic, I woke up crying. Since then, I’ve made many suicide plans.
I’ve decided something. I’m not sure if I’m going to keep my word on this, or if I’ll be a coward, but unless I die by other means first, I will commit suicide by the end of my youth.
I know who
“Do you want to die?”
This is a question I have been asked multiple times. By my counsellor, my brothers, my friends and my mum. I’ve recently started talking to an online counsellor and I’ve talked about self harm and she asked me if I wanted to die. My older brother mostly but also sometimes my younger brother have asked me in a threat kind of way if I do something wrong to them and they say “Do you want to die!?”. My friends maybe before doing something dangerous or stupid or while playing a game and doing something risky where I could die in it, they’ve asked me “Do you want to die?”. And the worst one yet, today my mum was yelling at me because I’ve been eating things that can make me really sick in the future and she asked me “Do you want to die?”.
Every time, I’ve said no. But that’s just it – Maybe I do want to die.
I just want to give up.. I tried killing myself a couple weeks ago but my bf took me to the hospital and they saved me. I just want it all to end! I’m so done with this place !! The only thing keeping me here today is my 2 precious kittens. I don’t know what to do..
To whom it may concern –
If you’re reading this – it’s already too late. I’ve lived long enough – arguably on borrowed time. I can’t remember a time in my life when I wanted to exist. I’ve only stayed around as long as I have for the sake of others. I haven’t lived for myself because I never wanted that. The world seems hell-bent on torturing me and leeching my sanity day by day. Please – don’t feel guilty. Do not question what you could have done to prevent this because the short answer is that there is nothing you could have done.. Do not grieve. This was inevitable. This decision was not made in an impulsive haste but was the result of years of intricate, well thought-out planning and consideration. For me, all roads eventually lead to suicide. I opened Pandora’s box at a young age, and my box was missing the one positive thing – Hope. For me, the future doesn’t exist. I apologize in advance for any pain my actions tonight have caused, and I know there will be an initial stage of shock and grief. But trust me when I say you are all better off without me. And in due time you will realize that. I’m sick of being a burden on those of you who are close to me. I don’t want to hold you back anymore. So while freeing myself from my demons – I am setting you free as well. Take comfort in the fact that I’m not in pain anymore – the tortured soul finally rests in peace. I am no longer a prisoner in my skull, at the mercy of my own sadistic brain. I am no longer plagued by extreme self-loathing. And while I love and appreciate you being in my life, I warned you about getting too close to me – I told you things would eventually go south. This was simply natural selection. Thank fuck I didn’t live long enough to pass this weakness down to a precious little human of my own – to taint the future of the species. I’m also sorry about the mess – a bullet in my skull was the only way to ensure this worked as quickly and efficiently as possible. I have one last request before I bid you farewell: I do not want a funeral or a memorial service. Don’t waste your time and money. Cremate my body and dump the ashes into the stream in the woods behind my childhood home – the only place I ever truly felt at peace. Let your sorrows be washed away downstream along with my remains. Then, forget about me, forget I ever existed, and move on with your lives. Be fruitful and prosperous. Make the very most of the time you have. I love you guys, but it’s time for us to part ways. Love, light, and blessings to you all. Goodbye.
So, I’m catching a one way bus back home tonight, and I really just need someone to talk to. I remember forever ago I found a discord chat full of people catching the same bus, but I don’t remember the group title and I certainly couldn’t find the invite. Does anyone know of any non-spammy chats where I could get some last laughs in? Or maybe a group of us could make a chat room? I’ll be online a while, so… idk. I just hope someone reads this and misses me.
ima kill myself and i just thought that maybe somebody should know, so now you all know.
There have been many people that have helped me up until this point in my life. I can’t express my gratitude towards them, because words can’t explain how much they’ve done for me. I seem ungrateful, greedy, and selfish. I promise that I am none of the things above to anyone who has helped me, although I may come off that way sometimes. There just so happen to be days where I can’t function, my brain gives up, and my body caves in on itself. I hate myself.
I hate myself to an extent that I’ve never felt before. I avoid mirrors at most costs to avoid looking at my body, because all I see is one that should not exist, that should shrink down to 0 pounds, and a body that is riddled with scars and imperfections. I hate that I can’t manage to do things right, even on my good days. Despite my ability to go day to day helping others, I still manage to fail myself. And I will continue to fail myself, because that is my pattern. The things I do to cope make me more worthless than I already am, but I don’t see an end to any of my addictions. At least not any time soon. The more time I waste, the more I will fail. I have no hope for a future, because at 16 years of living, if I could do this much damage, how much could I do at 20? 30?
I have a sinking paranoia that I carry with me at all times that everyone hates me. It doesn’t matter if they laugh or talk with me, I still manage to do things wrong. I am annoying, I am a burden, and I can not support my friends enough for them to stay in my life. People would be much better off without me. My parents would have more money, they wouldn’t have to focus on my sorry self, and they would be happier with just my sister. Another burden taken off their shoulders. The teachers and students at school wouldn’t have to deal with seeing me at school, and having to look at my failure of a body and face every day. People wouldn’t have to waste their time on me, or bear the burden of having me talk to them every day. The people at my church would be happier, feel more free to enjoy themselves, and not have to listen to me talk about my struggles. They would be free of the annoyance of my text messages and calls, and would simply think that I’m another obstacle out of their lives, which I would be.
While people would grieve for a while, as they do when anyone dies, the world would keep spinning, the sun would rise every day, and the flowers would continue growing. Eventually, I would be forgotten, and everyone I love would be able to move on and continue their successful lives without me. I am not of that much importance to anyone, really.
I see this as a favor to most people. Taking an obstacle out of many lives, removing a burden on the shoulders of the people I love, and allowing some people to breathe again. To those concerned with the reasoning of the action taken, please know it was not out of spite or greed.
Im so sick and fucking tired of trying to get through the day.People jus get on my nerves and give me hard times in one way or the other.Im so tired of self motivatin me constantly evryday to keep me frm commiting suicide.But I jus cant take it anymore..Life is harsh and hard.College fkin sucks ….
I will probably end my life next month after I meet up with my family and school friends.Ive been feelin suicidal for the past 8 months or so and i dont really see the point of living.And im feelin too bad bcoz I was really happy and satisfied with my life until the age of 17 and now its jus the exact opposite.Thinking abt my past glories make me very depressd of the person I am nw.
Im havin abt a month left to live.Will try to contribute atleast a bit from my side to this cruel and pathetic world…..:((((((((((
I’ve been drinking, i’ve been getting high. and all this time i wonder if i did the right thing. sure shes happier and has moved on but i havent. but it doesnt really matter what i want because she is more important even though i hate myself for loving her. who cares anyway ill just tie my noose and jump off my roof. life is messed up and it isnt worth it. im so done with all this shit.
I miss the words that I deleted. They felt more real.
There is this really heavy hole somewhere in my body and it’s growing. I remember when it first came. I was 12. I thought it was just a wound, you know? I thought it would heal and it would go away like any other time I’ve been hurt.
I thought that if I stopped paying attention to it, it would go away. That’s what I was always taught, I mean.
But it didn’t. The hole just kept getting bigger and heavier and darker and it’s lost. No, I’m lost. I’m lost in this hole and I can’t find myself. People now identify it, not me. I’ve become /that/
But it’s been 6 years now and I’ve completely disappeared. I found home in the black spaces and suffocating feels easier than working my lungs.
I think I’ve found love. The hole has taken me as it’s own, you know? I’m grateful.
It’s time I give back to my love.
Let me show you how much I love you, amor.
Coping SkillsFamily & Friends EffectsI Will SurviveMy Suicide NotePoetry & ArtStories of HopeStories of LossSuicidal Survivors
When death is so near, sometimes it walks on padded feet, strumming the ground like a guitarist, rhythmically – louder – softer, then with fingers on the wood, tap, tap… tap, tap. The sound is everywhere, no one can hear it but the poor fuck. It builds and then suddenly subsides, then as each pebble of doubt and every dark word is cast into the waters of his mind, the song builds again on each ripple. Inside his head each wave combines with the last, getting larger and larger. With the sound of the pebbles dropping into the water, cast by each tap, tap… tap, tap of the syncopating guitarist’s strum, the poor fuck holds his face in his hands trying to stop his mind from throbbing with the tempo.
But its not so much the sound of the padded feet that is maddening, its the unseen presence, the incessant tap, tap… tap, tap, the ripples beating upon the shores of his mind and the knowledge that Death stands over his shoulder. The poor fuck’s head pulsates with Death’s breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Sucking him in. Blowing him out. Breathing him in, hurling him out – cold, icy breaths. The poor fuck lands on the floor, pummeled, bruised, exhausted.
Yesterday when he was spit out the last time, he was nearly catatonic, couldn’t move, limbs stiff, sprawled on his bed, the sheets became straps, holding him – a prisoner. All he wanted to do was hide from the sound. He closed his eyes and sought refuge, but he could still hear Death pacing on padded feet, tap, tap… tap, tap, strumming his every thought, saying to him, “I’m still here, remember why? Do you remember the time when… remember why you are a fool, an idiot, good for nothing asshole, God Damn you, you fuck, you are a fuck!”
With each word a phrase would be built until there was only one conclusion – he is a fuck, a good for nothing idiot, a fool, weak and better off if he were dead. Then Death lifted his wand and the poor fuck became the soloist, marching to Death’s tune, singing Death’s song as his own, strumming his hand on Death’s guitar, with each tap, tap… tap, tap in cadence with the words, “God Damn you, asshole, you fuck, you are better off dead.” With each chorus, the poor fuck would search his memory for new notes for the song – the times that proved he was an asshole, a fuck and God Damn you and shit and fuck. The poor fuck would tap each note out on Death’s guitar, stringing verses together from memories of pain and anguish – all woven in a cadence of tap, tap… tap, tap – his life according to Death’s song. With every chorus the poor fuck twisted Death’s razor wire round his head, sinking it deeper into his flesh, cutting the skin and muscle, blood streamed out in rivulets down his contorted face.
It was an easy song for Death to lead with his baton, standing in front of the poor fuck on padded feet, he had only to strum memories on his guitar. They all lead to the chorus of Death: Die You Fuck. It was a game to Death, the poor fuck would end up dying anyway someday, so Death played out the song on his guitar, strumming the background tap, tap… tap, tap – and the poor fuck would begin to sing, actually carry the song and relish Death’s vision of his life, using his own memories to drive the song its crescendo.
Day by day, from morning till night Death taught the poor fuck the song. The poor fuck sang the discordant melody willingly, and little by little, faithfully, it became his song, the truth of his life, the embodiment of the emotion of his soul. Death was supreme as a Maestro as each day he would lift his baton when the poor fuck awoke, and the first verse was Fuck or Shit and it was followed by a harmony of memories, ending in God Damn. Death kept building the song for the crescendo, when, from the poor fuck’s mouth; with his own fingers the fucker would end the song in perfect tragedy. “Oh,” Death thought, “it will happen soon as the poor fuck sings, let’s see, will it be today as the idiot holds his head in despair? When will the singer succumb to the logical conclusion of the song of his life, the life strung together by my brilliance?”
“Ah, it is coming, you can see it in his eyes, he is now carried by the song, Catatonia, the emotions surging and driving him to madness. Sing!” now Death encourages him, “remember your failures, the love lost, the family forsaken, all done by You, You Fuck, you’re coming to the end of the song… feel it!” The song rises in a movement to perfect destruction; Death waves his baton but still taps out the rhythm on his guitar and moves him toward the end of the scale.
“Remember the failures, remember when… you are a Fuck, why live?” Death sucks him in and then, in a wave of emotion blows him out. The poor fuck is flung on the floor, his head in pain, his voice spent as he tries to scream out the anguish – it is stuck in his throat and comes out in a whimper, his mouth contorts and he weeps –for himself, a poor fuck, God Damn person, good for nothing shit, failure of a man, destroyed, nothing. The poor fuck takes the baton and becomes the Maestro as Death steps aside on padded feet.
The poor fuck replaces the wand with a pistol, eases back the slide and watches the bullet dance in time with Death’s strumming; the bronze shell disappears into the chamber. Nine millimeters of cold steel pressed to his forehead, the poor fuck watches the gun quivering in his hand, black and cold, an end to a poor fuck – he shakes to the tune, tap, tap… tap, tap, faster, faster, faster, the end, he thinks, only a trigger pull away, “Poor fuck, go away, forever, be gone, God Damn piece of shit, it can be over.”
Dancing in tune with Death’s rhythm, he shakes, holding the trigger, ready; Death waits and taps his guitar, “Ready, pull…” “No,” the poor fuck says, “I don’t want it to end like this. This is not the way it is supposed to end….” and his face contorts, writhes in pain, “No!”
“The poor fuck is ruining the song! God Damn it!” Death screams.
“No,” weeps the poor fuck as he cries, tears pouring from his eyes, now wrinkled slits clamped shut against the reality of the cold steel of death.
Tap, tap… tap,…. Death stops the song. He looks at him, disgusted, “you fuck, you piece of shit, you fucked it up, you good for nothing shit head….” Then he calms himself, exhaling cold steel, knowing he has time to finish the song tomorrow. “Yes,” he says, “the song will start again and you, you poor fuck, will sing again and again the words of the chorus: Fuck, you shit, Fuck you, God Damn piece of shit. Then the memories can serve again as verse until the poor fuck is spit out on the floor again and maybe, tomorrow, the bullet will pass into his brain and end his suffering. His blood will ooze from the back of his skull and flecks of brain will dance on the pillow, the wall and the floor. His children will look at him in shock, his parents collapse in grief and a new song can be tapped out in the ears of his sons and daughters as they remember the poor fuck, and I will creep up on them with padded feet and begin to strum their song on my guitar tap, tap… tap, tap, and carry their dark words to their lips.”
But whether he pulls the trigger tomorrow or not doesn’t matter, Death’s song has made him useless, a poor fuck, good for nothing – the singing itself only adds more verse, more strength to the truth captured in the chorus. Death stops strumming his guitar and walks away, on padded feet, thinking that tomorrow will be another day to toy with the poor fuck and that the verse won’t be altered because the poor fuck thinks that he doesn’t want it to end that way.
As the poor fuck lies on the floor, gun discarded next to him, a new rhythm takes shape, and so silent it is not audible, but inside his mind, in the clarity of the exhaustion left behind from his song of Death, the void is filled with despondent relief, a sadness quelled, a new beat, a soft chord, soothing his injury, massaging his bruises. All through the night it played.
The next day, Death returned on padded feet and found a new maestro in his place holding a baton, playing softly, peacefully on another instrument. Death looked at this newcomer with scorn and took up his guitar: tap, tap… tap, tap. The man responded, hearing the song of his soul and said, “Fuck, you shit, asshole, God Damn!” And Death smiled and turned in triumph to the new composer standing by his side. He laughed and called the composer a fuck, a shit, you loser, and then said, “I won, now fuck off.”
The composer looked at him, nonplussed and went on with his song. A chord drifted on invisible notes as the poor fuck was saying, “Fuck, God Damn.” Then the poor fuck heard the new song and stopped singing Death’s song. He said to himself, “What if I don’t say Fuck and God Damn, what if I say good things about myself. What the fuck do I have to lose?” And so the composer smiled and let the music dance, the dark words disappearing in the light of new words, soothing words, encouraging words – good words. Slowly, as the man forced the words from his lips his soul began to feel better and the darkness of God Damn was gone. After a time, he just felt numb, and then the pain began to subside and it was replaced with hope, and… faith, faith that he is not a poor fuck, but a man with goodness, goodness and what? And the anger replaced by faith, and faith encouraged by the light of love.
At this, Death fumed. He swore at the composer and tried to make the poor fuck sing. Death leaned close to him to suck him in, but the man wouldn’t sing, he wasn’t paying attention to Death’s baton. Tap, tap… tap, tap – Death strummed and beat on his guitar, but the man could not hear it would not hear it, he was listening to the other composer, the Maestro of light. Death shrieked, “Stop that God Damn song! Stop it! Stop it! Fuck you! Fuck off! God Damn it, you Fuck, You Fuck! Shit, Fuck you ass hole, Stop that God Damn song!” But the man would not stop listening to the new song and he began to add words of his own, and he renamed himself, in harmony with the new melody, he was no longer poor fuck.
Death, furious, dropped his guitar, took his strong dark words, placed them in his pocket, tucked away the nearly completed composition and walked away, on padded feet.
I’m going to do it I just need to know how to let people down easy. I really can’t stay here. Any ideas on what to write for my mom would be amazing. Thank you!
I have no idea how to start or where to start. This letter suppose to give you answer/s why I did that. I hope it would. As you are reading this, I hope you can feel my presence by your side. And as you proceed, I can tell that you’re already holding my hand, I hope you won’t let go because I will lead you to this journey of mine. From how it all started and how it ended. It is not easy, it is not easy to end it. While writing this, I am stuck between wanting to live and wanting to die. How can I live if I have no courage to live? how can I live if everything around me is falling apart? I’m like a bridge that falls down through troubled waters, I’m sinking and drowning yet no one dares to fix me or maybe no one could actually fix me because I know everyone in this world also need their own fixing. I’ve seen enough. I’ve seen cruelty, violence, pain, darkness and fear everywhere, not just outside but also inside the thing I used to call ‘home’. I’ve seen those and I think I possessed them. I fear of living when I know I could possibly manifest them and become a monster in the future. I don’t want to harm anyone specially those who’ve been part of my life. I don’t want to be a big burden in this broken world. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t be a successful person like what my mother thinks. I know, she believes in me. I’m sorry. I am an average, I can’t prove myself that I can be better for I stick on mediocrity. I am afraid of heights, I am afraid of being on top, I’m afraid of expectations. I just want to be me, I just want to be accepted not because of my medals or achievements but because I fail but keeps on dreaming. But no one did that. Maybe there are some but I can feel that they’re not there for me. This world is a big competition for them. For people I thought who were there for me.
Maybe if people did become strong for me, then I could be strong for myself.
Maybe if people didn’t give up on me, then I probably would not give up for myself.
If people did forgive me, maybe I could forgive myself.
If people fought for me to stay, then I could probably fought for myself and stayed.
If people taught me not only to be strong and told me that it is okay to fall sometimes, then I probably didn’t tried so hard to be strong and faked myself of being strong.
If people didn’t judged me on the way I am, then I probably didn’t judge myself.
If people didn’t pity me for the way I look, then I shouldn’t have to pity myself.
If people tried to listen to me, then I could’ve listen for myself too.
If people didn’t told me to die, then I shouldn’t have to think of this.
If people respected me, then I could possibly respect myself.
If people talked to me about sadness, then I probably didn’t hide it away.
If people cared before it’s too late, maybe I could’ve saved myself.
If people didn’t think of me as a challenge and a foe, then I wouldn’t have to think that my greatest enemy is myself.
If people showed me what love truly is and taught me to be loved and how to love, then maybe I could’ve love myself. For I can’t see what love is. I don’t know how to love. I tried to love myself, to fix myself but I can’t see anything around me.
Maybe darkness has blinded me.
It is me who should be blamed for being like this. It is my fault that I’m a weakling, it is my fault that I didn’t look for my own way. It is my fault that I was carried away by this broken society. It is my fault that I let darkness win. It’s like I’ve been stuck in this long dark tunnel and I couldn’t find an exit. I am lost and all I can see is pure darkness with a smell of blood, fear, and death. All I can hear is what my mind telling me and I’m terrified. I am afraid of taking one step, I don’t wanna move, I don’t want to face them. And I’m tired. Tired of standing alone, tired of searching for someone who could help me. But how could someone help me if I can’t help myself? the thing is, I can’t. Fear is drowning me, it devours me and it may turn me into a monster that I couldn’t imagine. You may think that I’m too selfish not to think of what may happen to others specially to my mother. Yes, I’m selfish. And this is why I deserve this. I deserve to die. Because I’m not strong like what you’ve think. I also feel like I’m a burden. And if I’m gone, the financial problems would be lesser. There will be no problem for my education, food or any needs anymore. I’ve hurt a lot of people, I’m too selfish. But I never regret this, the thing I regret is that I was born. I regret that I exist. And I finally killed the monster that is growing inside of me before it devours my whole system. I hope that I finally answered your question. But I guess, even if I wrote this, I can’t still explain the whole thing to understand me. Because no one would understand you clearly except yourself. Unfortunately, I don’t even understand myself, I can’t seek for an answer. But the whole story will remain as a mystery for most, and I better hide this for myself.
Tuesday May 1st 2018
Koralie. Or Koraly. Or Korallie. That’s your sister’s name, Maggy.
I like Koralie better.
I want to see you both.
I’m not doing well now.
I took how many pills?
I feel pathetic.
Manilla asked me how I do it.
She’d kill herself if she were me.
If only she knew.
I love you two so much.
I want to meet you both.
And your brother without a name.
I love you three so much.
Because you’re me.
And you’re mine.
And I’ll take care of you.
I want to walk to you.
Talk to you.
Feel your nappy hair rub against my chest as you sleep.
I have to stay alive.
Write my will.
I want to live to love you.
I’m failing everything, my babies.
But you’re there, I hope.
You’re reading this, I hope.
You’re my everythings, you know?
My love, my life, my safety nets.
And you don’t even exist yet.
But you’re the only things that make me happy.
I can’t wait to be there for you.
To love you the way I never loved myself.
But I want to end it all.
Because I can love you,
But I’m not good enough.
I won’t be good enough.
You’ll leave me, too.
But I’ll love you anyway.
But you’ll break my heart.
But it’ll beat for you anyway.
I’m trying to fight.
And you’re worth the fight.
But I can’t fight anymore.
I’m so tired of fighting against it.
But I still love you.
I took 15 pills.
That’s how many.
But I still love you.
Chronic PainFamily & Friends EffectsGeneralI Will SurviveMy Suicide NotePoetry & ArtRantsStories of HopeStories of LossSuicidal Survivors
Reality is boring ! Real life is boring ! Real world is boring ! Humanity/Mankind must move beyond money & politics for real progress !
Reality is boring, Humanity/Mankind must move beyond money & politics for real progress.
Although technology have been progressing rapidly nowadays, yet sadly in many aspects, Humanity/Mankind/Society still have slow progress; Everyday is still the same day & problems over and over again repeatedly.
I believe that in order to make a real progress for Humanity / Mankind, we must quickly focus & do the followings:
1) We must move beyond money & politics. It is outdated. A lot of problems in this world today basically stems from these two root causes (& also superstitions especially in religion, as well as in Ignorance & Stupidity due to failure in Education). For a truly real progress, we must start to focus on much more important things. Try look up/google for Universal Basic Income (UBI), as well as Resource Based Economy (RBE), The Venus Project, & The Zeitgeist Movement, for starter.
2) We must seriously consider that there is a possibility that Humanity / Mankind will go extinct / extinction. Most probably caused by our own Ignorance & Stupidity, as well as Greed. Therefore, we must prepare for the worst possible scenario, and one best solution is to start building a system of selection for the best few candidates of Humanity / Mankind (10% of the planet’s population, for example), whom will continue the future of our Humans Species in the best, smartest, most intelligent, rational, logical, most creative, wisest, & most civilized as possible.
3) Finally, we must unleash our Human’s greatest & most important potential: Imagination. If reality is boring & very limited/limiting, then the only way for us is to start focusing quickly on how to enter the world of Imagination, and turn it into reality ASAP. Some very important technology that must be quickly developed are: Artificial Intelligence (AI), Virtual Reality (VR), Augmented Reality (AR), biological Mutations, entering our Consciousness into the vast Net, as well as Transhumanism. We must turn the wildest, most imaginative movies & video games for example like science fiction (sci-fi) into reality ASAP, for real progress.
Otherwise, we will be stuck in this boring reality everyday, repeating over and over again, & even it could get worse & worse!
You know what’s attractive about a self-sabotaging, incessantly angry, overly-formal asshole? Yeah, me neither. Looking back on my day, all I can see is me screwing up every single piece and part of my day. Not little fuck ups either. No, of course not. That would be forgivable and we all know I’m far beyond any kind of forgiveness. Instead, I not only ruined my day, but fucked up the lives of those around me. That’s right, folks! I’m a goddamn irredeemable piece of shit!
You know what’s funny? I can’t stand the thought of anyone loving or even liking me. It’s an absolutely abhorrent thought to me that someone would settle for me when there are better people out in the world. I’ve sabotaged several relationships because of this, and I’m sure it will continue. I suppose I don’t exactly feel like I need to worry about someone actually loving me, because I don’t think anyone will ever be able to feel love for such a self-sabotaging piece of dog shit. This is understandable, and I say this without jealousy or anger toward anyone. I’ve come to terms with myself as the piece of dog shit that I am, and I suppose I hope everyone comes to terms with this as well. Perhaps it is naivety that people will protect themselves from me. All the same, I will pursue this naivety.
Don’t tell me you love me. You don’t. No one does because no one can. (What makes you think you’re right, Kid? Who’s to say you’re not just being a narcissistic asshole control freak?)
I swear to god, I’m just one big conglomerate of unforgivable sins. I am fucking shit and I just want to be dead. Nothing is working anymore. I’m sure I’ll be gone soon enough, though, and I’ll stop being such a burden to everyone.
But hey, at least you’ll all get a good show the whole way to my death!!!
i really hate calling you that. dad. you don’t act like one. i swore to myself five years ago that i would never call you dad or tell you that i love you ever again, yet i did, because you scared me. but i never meant it. what you did, i can never fucking forgive you. she was my best friend. we were only eleven years old. she saw you as a father, she trusted you, she trusted me and you took that away from me. i remember coming to school the next morning. it was a monday morning, and she pulled me aside before class started and told me she wasn’t allowed to come over to my house anymore. i was so sad. when i asked her why? god i wanted to fuckinf throw up. “because your dad molested me.” i’ll never ever fucking forgive you. sure, you denied it, because “you would never do that”. but a fifth grader doesn’t fucking make that shit up. you’re disgusting. i hate youihate you. my mom won’t tell me what you did to her when you guys were still married because she’s afraid you’ll get mad at her. i don’t even want to imagine what you put my poor fucking mother through, and god i want to break you and my stepmother up, because she’s such a good woman, and i couldn’t fucking bear to see you corrupt her too. i hope you never forget this. goodbye dad.