I want to die.
There, I said it. Plain and simple.
This is not a cry for help or a plea for attention. This is my version of screaming into a pillow; sharing a post on a dead medium where no one can see it, but I simply can’t keep my feelings in check any longer.
I’m tired of the constant worrying and perpetual fear and anxiety I live in. Everything worries me. Everything is a matter of life and death. Everything deserves to be pondered and ruthlessly obsessed about until it’s all I can do not to curl up in the fetal position and wait for either sleep deprivation, starvation, or any number of diseases -shout out to any coronavirus who may he reading this- to finally take my life and end my misery.
I can proudly count myself among the few who are not actively panicking about the coronavirus outbreak. That may turn out to be delicious irony if I actually do get infected -or God forbid, one of my loved ones- but the truth is that I would welcome an end to all this. The only thing that worries me is that coronavirus victims die gasping for breath, which is something I’m already phobic about. That’s the equivalent of not wanting to be blown to shreds by a landmine because it would ruin your suit.
I’m not an 11 year old emo, and I’m not an emotional girl going through a particularly turbulent PMS. I am quite simply unable to carry my burdens anymore; the burden of working a job I despise; the burden of needing to bring in a stable income; the burden of having no purpose; the burden of feeling useless; the burden of feeling like what little talents I had are fading away; the burden of being in a difficult relationship... but most of all, the burden of worrying about every single detail of my life in every possible future timeline.
It’s not like I’m carrying the world on my shoulders; but rather like the world is sitting on my chest, compressing me; pressing in on all sides; suffocating me and reducing me to a wheezing old soul, metaphorically gasping for breath.
Huh.
This must be what a dying coronavirus victim feels in their last moments. Always gasping, forever gasping, but never quite able to take in that one life-giving, refreshing gulp of sweet, cold air... never quite able to give voice to their concerns to those closest to them; or tell them they love them; or at the very least let out a defiant scream or curse... something. Anything.
I don’t know what I came here to say. It may just be that I have nothing to say. That’s been happening more and more over the past few months... because at some point you realize that no matter what you say, people do as they please. No one feels your pain, and no one shares your anguish. At the end of the day; if I get coronavirus, I will die gasping for breath alone. And if I don’t, I will still be alone- no matter how many people surround or try to help me; because I’m trapped in a sadist’s mind, whose only priority in life is to watch me suffer and writhe in eternal anguish as the clock ticks my life away.
Fun fact; if heaven were customized to each person’s deepest wishes, mine would be nothingness- an athiest’s paradise. Sweet, glorious nothing. Eternal dreamless sleep, with nothing to worry or obsess about for once.
Ultimately, death is the sweetest respite a person like me can wish for.
There, I said it. Plain and simple.
This is not a cry for help or a plea for attention. This is my version of screaming into a pillow; sharing a post on a dead medium where no one can see it, but I simply can’t keep my feelings in check any longer.
I’m tired of the constant worrying and perpetual fear and anxiety I live in. Everything worries me. Everything is a matter of life and death. Everything deserves to be pondered and ruthlessly obsessed about until it’s all I can do not to curl up in the fetal position and wait for either sleep deprivation, starvation, or any number of diseases -shout out to any coronavirus who may he reading this- to finally take my life and end my misery.
I can proudly count myself among the few who are not actively panicking about the coronavirus outbreak. That may turn out to be delicious irony if I actually do get infected -or God forbid, one of my loved ones- but the truth is that I would welcome an end to all this. The only thing that worries me is that coronavirus victims die gasping for breath, which is something I’m already phobic about. That’s the equivalent of not wanting to be blown to shreds by a landmine because it would ruin your suit.
I’m not an 11 year old emo, and I’m not an emotional girl going through a particularly turbulent PMS. I am quite simply unable to carry my burdens anymore; the burden of working a job I despise; the burden of needing to bring in a stable income; the burden of having no purpose; the burden of feeling useless; the burden of feeling like what little talents I had are fading away; the burden of being in a difficult relationship... but most of all, the burden of worrying about every single detail of my life in every possible future timeline.
It’s not like I’m carrying the world on my shoulders; but rather like the world is sitting on my chest, compressing me; pressing in on all sides; suffocating me and reducing me to a wheezing old soul, metaphorically gasping for breath.
Huh.
This must be what a dying coronavirus victim feels in their last moments. Always gasping, forever gasping, but never quite able to take in that one life-giving, refreshing gulp of sweet, cold air... never quite able to give voice to their concerns to those closest to them; or tell them they love them; or at the very least let out a defiant scream or curse... something. Anything.
I don’t know what I came here to say. It may just be that I have nothing to say. That’s been happening more and more over the past few months... because at some point you realize that no matter what you say, people do as they please. No one feels your pain, and no one shares your anguish. At the end of the day; if I get coronavirus, I will die gasping for breath alone. And if I don’t, I will still be alone- no matter how many people surround or try to help me; because I’m trapped in a sadist’s mind, whose only priority in life is to watch me suffer and writhe in eternal anguish as the clock ticks my life away.
Fun fact; if heaven were customized to each person’s deepest wishes, mine would be nothingness- an athiest’s paradise. Sweet, glorious nothing. Eternal dreamless sleep, with nothing to worry or obsess about for once.
Ultimately, death is the sweetest respite a person like me can wish for.
No comments:
Post a Comment