Dear Daddy

Dear Daddy,
i am writing you this note to elucidate the reasons why I’m taking this drastic action. By the time you read this note you be reading it with tears in your eyes as you will be grieving the death the suicide of your only child. I plan to kill myself by hanging my body in my lonely desolate room in my lonely haunted flat.

Before I articulate the various reasons why i cant bare to stay alive anymore i want to thank you deeply for being a kind loving parent. I want to thank you for showering me with affection for giving me the impetus to venture outside of maidstone and spread my wings. You loved in your reserved introvert idiosyncratic style. Despite the fact you found it immensely onerous to show affection you loved me hugged me never hit me never made me feel less as a women.

After mum died killed herself in harrowing circumstances I changed forever there were emotional scars I incurred from losing my mum that would never heal. From that day on i would never heal adequately greave for my mums death. Indeed we never conversed or confronted the death the loss after her funeral. My mum our blinding shower of ethereal beauty left us forever we never sought out therapy. She haunted our home and me her presence lingered on. The pain the wounds were never addressed hence the pain the fucking god damn pain spread throughout my body like a vicious cancer infecting every organ every facet of my life. Following her death i became severely depressed i suffered from habitually panic attacks and was afflicted with a crippling social anxiety disorder. I never divulged this to another soul just like mum and yourself i kept my pain my trauma my demons hidden in the depths of my fractured consciousness.

As i matured from a precious adolescent into a young women these emotional demons didn’t abate rather the depression metastasised into a more acute mental illness. I refused to seek professional help refused to confide in a friend or speak to you about my psychological issues. The shame the aversion to being vulnerable precluded from ever baring my broken soul to anybody even a loving father. In university surrounded by my uni comrades i kept my psychosis a secret. I made excuses when I suffered another panic attack when I was suicidal I said i was ill that i had contracted a stomach bug or that i had a acute migraine. These convincing excuses kept me from revealing my wounds kept me from being emotional vulnerable. The semblance of normality the mask stayed on my porcelain face. However underneath the mask lurked a dark abyss of sadness. The anxiety grow and exacerbated as i found even venturing outside a onerous torturous task. I became increasingly withdrawn and alienated as i had nobody to talk to about my illness no real outlet to vent my fury other than my poetry and short stories.

The trauma of mums suicide was never addressed or resolved i never healed from that harrowing day. My childhood innocence was lost when i was 13 forced to look death in the eyes forced to look in the listless empty eyes of my mum it broke me as a person. I suffered from recurring nightmares in which my subconscious made me relive that heart wrenching day repeatedly in my dream world. In my personal life the depression grow worse i began to have unremitting thoughts visions of my demise. I fantasised about dying leaving this forsaken planet ending the pain of being me. To mitigate these dark sick thoughts i began to self harm to lacerate my arms with a blade of glass. Again i kept this sick practise hidden from my social circle i surreptitiously cut my arms. This tendency I started at the age of 16 prevented me from descending further into greater depths of abject despair.

At the age of 23 i cant take the pain anymore i want to die i want death. Everyday i wake up go to my profession in a publishing house and have to endure anxiety of interacting with strangers. I have to face a cruel world and the depression is incessant it never leaves me. I have become dead on the inside feeling this overwhelming emotional numbness that only engenders a feeling of sadness. For months i have tried to convince myself find a slither of hope in my pathetic life to not die. I am a failure i am incapable of cultivating romantic relationships I’m a failure as a writer. I can recall having these grandiose illusions of becoming a eminent literary figure who’ve creature works are revered for there linguistic brilliance. Instead all my writing my short stories my novels my poetry have been resoundingly rejected my a multitude of publishers. I am a forgotten soul cast out into the dust heap left to rot to wither and die in perennial alienation. I had a YouTube channel in which i pontificated about my long term battle with untreated depression with social anxiety. Video after video with my homely face obscured under a mask i poured out my ravaged soul made myself vulnerable. Barely anybody watched these emotionally cathartic videos again i failed in another medium of creative expression. This time i failed as a YouTube vlogging about my depression my abnormal proclivities nobody cared. Just like nobody cares when i die other than you who never stopped caring for me.

I want to conclude this letter by saying how profoundly sorry i am for being a shitty daughter for not contacting you as often as i should have. I’m sorry for the pain i will inflict you with for killing myself tonight. I sorry i just cant take it anymore i want to end the torture and disappear forever into nothingness to become dust to cease to be. Please bury me next to mums gravesite and play Elgar’s cello concerto played effusively by Jacqueline du pre at my funeral. That is my only request that I hope you will adhere to my final demands for my burial and funeral service.

Goodbye daddy please don’t forget me from your loving daughter aria πŸ’”πŸ’”πŸ’”

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