I sit alone in my bedroom, the posters on the walls staring at me disappointingly. The voices in my head debating over what I should do.
“Do it. Slit your wrists. It won’t hurt.” Some of them say.
“No, don’t. It’s not the answer. There is a point in you being here.” The others retort.
They are driving me more and more insane. I can’t take their incessant bickering. I should just do it and end this useless existance.
“NO! You are here for a reason, even if you don’t know what it is yet. You have to stay. Think of all those you will leave behind.” The voices say forcefully.
What is the reason I’m here? I’ve done what I needed to do. I’ve put up with the torment of my existance long enough. Why should I continue when I’ve found my only release? And what of the one’s I’ll leave behind? They will get over it and continue with their lives as if I was never here. If they really love me then they will understand that leaving is what I have to do. I suffer in every possible way and I’m tired of putting up with it.
Once again the posters on the walls glare at me, but this time with disapproval. Even the cockatiel, sitting in its cage, seems angered by my words. The only object that isn’t angered is the blade in my hand. It calls to me invitingly.
“Do it Myst. I am the only form of release there is for you. When have I ever let you down? Look at the cuts on your shoulder. Were you not pleased with those? Did I not make you proud when the slits in your skin opened and the blood started to flow? The knife seems to say.
The memories of that night are still vivid in the depths of my mind. The pain and pleasure of the blade entering my skin. The vertigo of emotions as my life force begins to flow from the wounds. Anger, love, pain, hatred, depression and a strange flicker of hope swirling through my body. Hope that i can die and be released. That was the last time I knew real emotion. I am now dead to all except anger and hatred. And now, even they are slipping form my grasp. I can’t go on. There is no reason for me to remain on this forsaken planet.
So tired of living.
So tired of existing.
I want it to end.
I need it to be over.
Why am I here?
What is the reason for my existance?
Let me die.
Let me leave.
Give me release for this torment…
~I wrote this because of the way I’m feeling at the moment. It’s nearly the anniversary of my blood brothers suicide and I’m feeling like I should join him in his quest of exploring the afterlife. He left this world because he didn’t belong here and I now know that he had a very valid point for leaving. I too don’t belong here.~