Sick of the pain the god damn fucking pain that lurks in my mind. Everyday is a arduous struggle to survive living is extremely hard I’m suffocating on the noxious fumes of my defective body and mind. This is my last literary effort after this i plan to expeditiously kill myself the same way my mother almost 10 years previously committed suicide. By hanging my listless forlorn body from a rope. Dying in excruciating misery in a slow death all alone live on my poorly viewed YouTube channel.
I’ve contemplated suicide on innumerable moments in the past 10 years always found a reason to carry on existing in this cruel callous world. Now all the light has been exhumed by my crippling depression and anxiety. Once there burned a fire for life that roared inside of me now that fire has died a slow death there’s no sunshine in my soul only the abyss of despair. I cant carry on anymore i cant function in this world the lead iron weight of my pernicious illness is destroying me rotting me from the inside like a cancerous growth proliferating across my body rendering me tortured by my terminal depression and habitual panic attacks. At least once a month i am forced to endure a panic attack where i feel overcome with a sensation of dread then I’m paralysed unable to move from the sanctuary of my bed. I don’t answer the phone I exist in silence in my tomb lost in the hell of my inner world.
The panic attacks started in the weeks that followed my mums sudden harrowing suicide it was symptomatic of my unresolved ptsd I had all this social anxiety that exploded in a humiliating attack. They’ve occurred with regularity never though have i consulted with a gp a therapist or confided with my father or a close confidant the depths of my disorder. My depression my anxiety my self harm my suicidal predilections have only been articulated through the medium of poetry and my anonymous YouTube videos. I have kept it all a secret from my closest friends my family through the many lies blaming my anxiety attacks on my asthma making lame excuses as to why i cant go out. Telling my friends I’m studying or I’m unable to attends due to a temporary physical ailment.
Now I have reached the end of the road no reason to carry on existing. For months in the alienation of my secluded one bedroom flat in the middle of Cambridge I’ve been ruminating whether or not to end my pathetic life. Everyday its the same thoughts circulating my mind how and why. Now i know how and there’s no why to avert me from carry out my nihilistic plan. As i compose this letter with my left hand I’m stroking the sturdy unbreakable rope. I want this i want death after last week attending my dads second wedding there’s no incentive for me to delay my injurious plan. I deferred my suicide date to not spoil my dads wedding wanting him to have a untarnished wedding day one last happy memory of me before i evaporate into the jaws of oblivion.
Writing this letter with my left and right arms seething in unrelenting throes of agony from the self inflicted lacerations i executed last night in a final attempt to feel my pain to assuage the black dog monster that exists in the recesses of my fractured psyche. All to no avail i still fervently want death the masochistic act had on countless moments prevented me from attempting suicide. Now my condition has metastasised into this last stage depression no turning back no hope or desire for redemption I’m going to die. Cutting deep into my forearm with a deadly blade of glass to ravage and permanently scar my arms the only method i can express my inarticulate sorry to the world. It’s how i remind myself my dire mental state despite my propensity for self mutilation I obscure my wounds from all those who i come into contact with. Wearing long sleeved shirts and thick coats when i venture outside. The shame of my untreated illness precludes me from revealing my wounds to anybody.
Today though with my soul being submerged in the floods waters of despair i hark back to my mums suicide her perennial battle with depression. Her inclination to hide to deny to adopt a brave exterior masking the emotional torture that was eating her up on the inside. Shortly before i wrote this suicide letter i read with tears in my eyes my mums suicide elegy where she elucidated the myriad of reasons why she killed herself at the tender age of 38 when i was just 13. She professed her love for me every year on the anniversary of her suicide I would read this verbose letter listening to her favourite pieces of classical music a night in which i pay respects to my mums life. For years I felt a mixture of anger and sadness now I fully comprehend her actions as i am about to undertake my suicide.
Oh mother and daddy please forgive me for my selfish action forgive me Ella and Rachel for my deleterious decision to die. I cant bare the pain of being me anymore my condition is deteriorating exponentially soon ill be unable to leave my flat or function in the workplace. The attacks the nightmares the self loathing the isolation the daily torment have all grown too onerous for me to prevail. I can see deaths beady eyes i can smell the pungent aroma of death i can feel the presence of the reaper as he entices me to drift from the world of the living into the land of the dead. There’s nothing left for me here on earth but crushing boredom emptiness and a long life of loneliness i cant break the chains and bars of my mental illness. The only freedom from the torment is the sweet liberation of death. There’s no future no highway to traverse no reason to be no hope of love.