2AM Phone Call To The Salvation Army Crisis Hotline

Its 2 am in the morning my hands are shacking covered in blood from another masochistic bout of self harm. I’m laying on my kitchen floor with a razor blade in my right hand my left arm looks ravaged with several vertical deep lacerations on my underarm. My pain receptors are dulled and numb from the excess of whisky i have devoured throughout this lonesome evening. I cant feel the pain of my wounds that will happen tomorrow on top of a punishing hangover. I’m in a dark place at my wits end seriously considering ending my life. Elgar cello concerto echoes throughout the thin walls of my flat playing on my Bluetooth speakers. As I hear the heart wrenching sublime sound of Jacqueline du pre playing the cello with adroitness tears stream down my ashen face devoid of beauty.

I’m crying uncontrollable unable to control my breathing. Breathing in and out at a frantic rate I repeat the phrase in my hand I can’t breathe i cant breathe for several minutes. I feel like death the dread is overpowering the suicidal thoughts overpower my intoxicated mind. I’ve spent all Saturday with the curtains shut in my flat and wearing my crimson silk pyjamas. I commenced drinking my whisky and coke cocktail around 2 in the afternoon wanting to nullify the pain i been subsisting with for the previous several weeks. I cant bare it anymore I’m a 23 year old living alone living with severe depression with a impairing social anxiety disorder and a myriad of other mentally ill symptoms indicative of a long term untreated psychosis. I have neglected important pivotal friendships due to the severity of my social anxiety and the depression has compounded my desolate suicidal disposition. I feel like such a fucking loser a freak who’s been condemned to a life of abject misery and being sequestered from the human race from the kindness and love of strangers due to my disorders.

In my paralytic condition wanting to end my life with the razor blade hovering perilously above my wrist i take a last chance and call the suicidal army crisis hotline. I can’t call any of my family or a distant friend who are still lodged in my iPhone contact list who i still consider a friend. To bare my soul to unload my desperate fragile mental state to somebody I know fills my heart with dread. Especially calling them at 2 in the morning in my delirious drug frenzied state. Throughout the years i have carefully concealed the depths of my pain my anxiety my suicidal predilections my self harm from anybody with whom who knows me who cares for me. Hence i conclude to call of the kind soft spoken sympathetic listening operators with whom I’ve spoken with on numerous occasions on the past several years. This time though i want to die i need to be reminded given any reason why I should remain alive to be part of the living.

My hands are shacking profusely my lips are quivering snot is flowing from my nose I’m a drunken mess wanting to hear a solemn voice in my hell. Dialling the number still on the kitchen floor slumped in a drunken stupor actually terrified of speaking to a volunteer and divulging my desire to end my life. The number rings three times a volunteer answers my forlorn call with a hushed dulcet voice that immediately assuages my anxiety. “Hello how can i help you”
She initiates our conversation. There’s a awkward silence of 10 seconds before I gather myself before i control my breathe and blow my nose.
“ hello mam i want to kill myself i cant stand the pain anymore I’ve got a razor blade and i want to slash my wrists.” My voice cracks i can hardly speak as i utter these words and pronounce my thoughts to another soul. The listener responds with stereotypical calmness trying diligently to appease me to convince that not take a deleterious action. “ please put down the razor blade try to calm down how long have you been feeling suicidal or depressed.” She utters in a unwavering calm manner as i acquiesce to her simple demand placing the blade on my blood stained lilo kitchen floor. I respond opening myself to another human being allowing for once an person into my inner world.
“ I have been living with this depression for years living with anxiety but for the past several months the hurt of existing has grown more severe. Everyday i think about killing myself. There’s nobody in my life who cares about me i am alone in the darkness i cant endure it anymore i just want to end the pain of my pathetic life” I break down and become inconsolable with rivers if sadness cascading down my face . My hands collapse into my tear drenched face I’m still encamped on the floor with arms coated in my blood i wait patiently for a response to my verbose declaration of my fractured psyche.
“Please calm down I’m listening to you understand there are people I’m certain in your life who care for you. I’m sure you have friends and family who would be devastated if you committed suicide” There was a uncomfortable silence as the amiable listener waited for my response. I responded barely able to articulate my thoughts with a voice stammering and quivering.
“Tttankyou for your www words i jjust nneeded somebody to talk to i know i need help that i need therapy i need to speak to my friends about my dire emotional state” I was amazed at how lucid i was in in my intoxicated suicidal mind space.

The listener realised her compassionate words had dissuaded me from ending my life that this was a despairing cry for help in the bleak hours of a Sunday morning. She concluded our brief conversation have sage words of advice.
“ I’m promising you that you’ll feel better in the morning. You’ve taken the first steps in dealing with your mental illness actually speaking to another person showing that bravery. I’m asking you to talk about your depression your anxiety with your mother and father they care for you and then take the next scary steps of speaking with a therapist who will ameliorate your condition. I’m proud of you that you put down the razor blade and can you please promise me you wont end your life” She concluded as I responded tentatively
“Thank you for hearing for taking my call for listening attentively to my lamentable words. Its so cathartic to talk to a stranger to realise I’m not alone in this cold world that somebody cares about me. Thank you mam I promise i wont kill myself”
We then in unison said our goodbyes as i terminated by 2am call to the Salvation Army Suicide hotline. I sat there for minutes afterwards on the floor with a strange feeling of elation pulsating in my body. I got up sauntered languidly to the bathroom and removed the dried blood stains from my hair and in my listless drunken stupor applied a profusion of disinfectant to my self infected wounds. Still with my pain receptors numbed from the excessive of alcohol i felt no pain. Walked to my bedroom deciding to mop up the excess of blood on my kitchen floor tomorrow.

I lay in my bed for minutes feeling like a human being that matters the loneliness had temporarily dissipated in that pivotal early morning interaction.

Advertisements

I’m Ugly Living With Body Dysmorphia

The genesis of my body dysmorphia began as I entered adolescence. I was always this shy introverted who was acutely self conscious around my secondary school peers. Then a tragic event befall our family my mother committed suicide in my first year i attended secondary school the ptsd I incurred and the isolation i surmised exacerbated my body dysmorphia disorder. After losing my mum in harrowing circumstances i began to despise my physical appearance my flat featureless body my ashen face devoid of beauty. Going out to school or socialising with friends became a torturous endeavour i would apply a profusion of makeup to my face to mask my horrid face.

When my disorder started to affect the quality of my life i began to suffer from panic attack in public. Even simply mundane outings like going back and forth from the local shops were torture. When I did venture outside on rare moments apart from attending school i felt intensely self conscious. Feeling the icy wind hit my sweaty face the anxiety pulsating round my body. Then my heart is arcing i cant control my breathing as i walk towards the shop my feet are in a state of paralysis totally then i feel like dying. Desperately i would find a park bench or secluded spot to collapse to hide my anxiety attack. Then rather then braving a brief trip to the shops i would frantically run home to the serene shelter of my bedroom. This type of panic attack happened on countless occasions throughout my teenage years as i was enduring this secret disorder.

Rather than divulging my condition to a close confidant to my father or a doctor i hide my shame the revulsion I had for my grotesque body. Laing awake at night fantasising all the ways i could ameliorate my flaws with exorbitantly expansive plastic surgery. Getting a nose job a augmenting my flat breasts getting botox collagen in my lips whitening my teeth i theorised maybe i could be happy in my skin after a serious of plastic surgery operations. My self loathing caused me to become severely depressed almost suicidal the only way I could assuage my pain was to lacerate my arms in self harm. Taking a sharp piece of glass and disfiguring my arms then hiding the shame of my lacerated arms my wearing long sleeved shirts for weeks afterwards.

As my disorder progressed i developed this fear of mirrors. The trip to the bathroom mirror was this daily excruciating experience to view my face at the onset of a new day. I started to eschew looking into the mirror brushing my teeth or washing my face with my face looking at the taps. Only when i would go on nights out with my friends when I needed to apply a profusion of makeup to my ugly face would i view my reflection in the critical bathroom mirror. Even with layer upon layer of makeup with my red lips looking lustrous i would shudder in disquiet at this monster in the mirror. Then on these sporadic nights out i suffered the hell of seeing my pallid homely face in a mirror in a bar bathroom in a public toilet that horror of my ugliness magnified surrounded by a bevy of strangers would send down a spiral of anxiety and suicidal thoughts. If by chance i caught a glimpse of my face on a drunken night out with my friends i would usually suffer another panic attack hiding in the bathroom stall for minutes unable to breathe with tears cascading down my face. Then making a excuse why i would return to my sanctuary where i wouldn’t subject the general public to my deformed face.

The severe body dysmorphia continued from my adolescence into my tenure as a university student. The severity of my revulsion of my body didn’t abate it grow more acute. I devolved into a increasingly socially withdrawn creature only exposing my face to the world when it was essential to me functioning as a student. Such as attending lectures or going to my part time job. Time after time i turned down incessant requests for nights to go on holidays to attend musical festivals with my university cohorts. The increasing social anxiety and body dysmorphia made socialising with strangers for a protracted time feel like purgatory having unabated anxiety no assuagement from the this untreated hidden disorder. As i lived as a recluse i had these perennial suicidal inclinations as i was becoming isolated from society due to the living hell of my disorder and long term depression.

As this body disorder remained a shameful secret i found the idea of sex a impossibility. In my student years i embarked upon a measly 3 dates with potential lovers. These were agonising experiencing having my every flaw judged my a date having to make staid small talk. Feeling like these dates were a prank or a lost bet why would these alluring young men find me attractive. After the awkward date we exchanged a kiss on the cheek then never conversed as i ghosted these men. The thought of being intimate of having my emaciated ghost like body being naked next to a immaculate toned modern men filled my body with dread. Getting acquainted with conversation was arduous enough but sex kissing touching caressing sexual intercourse would be beyond my capabilities. Even though i fantasised habitually of the ecstasy of a falling in love and engaging in sublime sex with a hairless toned adonis. Despite all the trauma I have incurred in my 23 years when my body anxiety has metastasised into a impairing body disorder I have kept my pain my body dysmorphia hermetically sealed in the recesses of my damaged consciousness.

On umpteen times I have made a appointment for my local gp or seeked the help of a therapist who could treat my disorder. Then the day of the appointment arrives and the overwhelming fear of being vulnerable confiding in a doctor about my fractured mental condition has been too onerous to attend a appointment. I haven’t overcome my fears or talked to another soul about the hell I’m living with. One day if I’m ever going to become a fully functioning member of society with a husband with children with a enriching fulfilling life I’m going to need to disclose my depression my body dysmorphia with a qualified professional.

Fear And Loathing At The Supermarket

It happens every time I venture into the terrifying supermarket
My mind is besieged with anxiety with gnarled feelings of worthlessness
I enter the door with my heart racing at a frantic pace
Beads Of sweat form on my forehead as the anxiety surges through my body

Ethereal classical music is reverberating in my ear with my blue tooth headphones
The music helps to mitigate the hell of a brief visit at my local supermarket
I pick up a basket to purchase a few essential items as i peruse the shop
I rush around with sweat with terror with perpetual feelings of dread

Avoid eye contact with my fellow shoppers i keep my eyes to myself
Its utterly horrible i struggle to breathe struggle to maintain my veneer of outward serenity
Inside beyond this composed demeanour lurks a vast inner universe of suffering and sadness at being afflicted with a determination social anxiety disorder

To assuage my anxiety I perform a few idiosyncratic non verbal ticks
I profusely tap my fingers against my waist then i rub and scratch my fingers against my palm
I keep tapping my fingers occasionally rubbing my face to nullify the intense disquiet that pulsating in my fractured mind
After a 10 minute agitated shop i am finally at the checkout
This is the worst part having a cashier judging me excoriating my appearance my purchases i begin to breathe at a accelerated rate finally i hand over my card and I’m free to leave this wretched place free to leave the nightmare performing a rudimentary everyday task normal people take for granted

The Perpetual Hell Of Living With A Social Anxiety Disorder

My social anxiety began in the aftermath of my mothers suicide. Before that harrowing emotional scaring event at the age of 13 i was a shy introvert who could be described as socially awkward. After witnessing my mother dead body the ptsd it was the genesis of my pernicious social anxiety disorder. In the months that followed her funeral i had a bout of intense terrifying panic attacks. Panic attacks where i wasn’t fully cognisant what was happening to me at first I thought it was a heart attack with the heavy breathing the tightness in my chest. Then going out going to school socialising with my friends became a torturous undertaking as i was besieged with anxiety with the fear. Throughout my adolescence my anxiety grew more acute as i kept my disorder a secret making up excuses declining night out with friends turning down dates from males admirers.

As i progressed from a precocious teenager into a young adult this disorder has metastasised into a paralysing illness that impacts every facet of my life. Its a all consuming fear of everything a fear of the fear. A fear of any rudimentary social interaction a fear of intimacy of the crowd of going to social events with friends or family. I have forced myself to attend birthdays wedding drunken nights out with my friends to not let this monster destroy me. However attending these social gatherings was pure intense unrelenting torture. Its a fear that haunts you its the fear of being perceived as boring or a cruel look from a stranger that sends my anxiety escalating. Its the fear of another panic attack around strangers the constant fear of letting the mask slip and revealing my disorder. I am able to mitigate to anaesthetise to the social anxiety my devouring copious quantities of alcohol. I use alcohol as a anti anxiety medication to temporarily alleviate the perpetual hell of my anxiety.

The anxiety is so oppressive that i have refrained from divulging my anxiety with a friends with a qualified psychiatrist or gp. The idea of being that vulnerable delineating the years of panic attacks and anxiety fills my mind with dread. Hence i am unable to take anti anxiety medication. Even going to the doctors for a habitual check up is something i have forgo because its such a laborious task. Simple everyday mundane tasks normal socially functional individuals take for granted become with my deleterious social phobia a monumental endeavour. Venturing outside with the threat of a panic attack having cold glances from strangers having to form conversations with strangers was hell. Short 20 to 30 minute traversal to my local convenience store was torture that i had to endure for my basic survival. On this journey i suffered from heavy breathing constantly scratching my hand to assuage my anxiety. Then there’s speaking with people with the paranoia the angst that pulsates in my neurotic body. Its hell and it never ends i cant go out anymore because of the fucking anxiety that follows me that strangles my soul.

Going on a date is a impossibility that beyond my abilities. I have in the past had a few dates with alluring prospective lovers but the fear was too laborious to continue the romantic relationship. Friendships due to me abstaining from the majority of social events have slowly drifted apart. Important intimate friends have lost all contact with as they lose all patience in my anti social peculiar behaviour. They for a while persisted with me but after i stopped accepting their effusive requests for nights out all contact was lost as our beautiful friendships faded away into a sad memory.

By life as this disorder has devoured me has eclipsed all the beauty inside of me is a forlorn wretched existence. Its endless anxiety that is with me all the time even as i sit alone in the comfort in the sanctuary of my home secluded away from other people. I sit twitching incessantly shacking my legs unable to reflex unable to feel a modicum of serenity. This anxiety has given me a life of severe alienation where i am all alone in my illness unable to articulate the scale of my anxiety. I cant expose myself to the horror of the real world i cant force myself to face these nightmarish protracted social interactions. Hence i stay in my tiny enclave hoping to escape hoping to palliative my anxiety.

Living with social anxiety is detrimental to my vocational prospects. As a teenager and student i had these illusions of travelling the world as a young writer seeing new cultures that are enriching and enlightening endeavours. Now though these fantastical dreams will never be realised i still write poetry and short stories that remain unpublished works of fiction. My dreams of living a exhilarating adventurous life have vanished to be replaced by far fetched dreams of becoming a published novelist. I still harbour hopes of conquering my illness of being able to have something that resembles a life filled with ebullient people. I want to fall in love to have friends that love and cherish my company. I want the pain the isolation the fear the dread the purgatory to be over. I want to finally confess my anxiety to a doctor i yearn for a hug from a fellow anxiety suffering where we cry and console each other. I want that elation that euphoric release of this pent up suppressed pain and worry and torture I incur every day as i traverse back and forth from my place of employment.

There is a bluebird living inside of me chocking on the noxious fumes of my illness. There is a bluebird that exists in my dreams where i can freely smile laugh partake in glorious human activities without the angst. There is a bluebird that is slowly dying being crushed by the weight of my disorder a bluebird that screams at night a bluebird who’s cry’s for help go on unanswered. There is a bluebird that wants to fly through time and space that wants to feel the beauty of life in its tender wings. There is a bluebird that wants to get drunk to get high to fall in love to feel the ecstasy of life flowing circulating in its fragile body in this ethereal finite world

Isolation

Trapped inside my flat my insulated enclave
Trapped inside the inhibitions of my anxiety riddled personality
The isolation the alienation of my life is slowly killing me
I look outside my dusty window and see a vast landscape a world with colour with beauty i want to experience to taste to devour

My anxiety disorder precludes me from regularly going outside
Only when its necessary such as attending my job or purchasing food at the shops
Other than that I remain ensconced in my tiny flat hidden away
Turning down requests from friends for nights out with this onerous anxiety that never abates or relents

I desire to be rid of this pernicious social anxiety
A debilitating anxiety that renders me paralysed with nervousness when I’m outside of my safety zone of my flat
I cant go out anymore hence i refrain from answering incessant messages from old friends
I hide with all the lights out not wanting to communicate with another soul that’s how horrendous the anxiety gets

I suffer from regular humiliating panic attacks when I’m in public
So I retreats further and further inwards into these protracted states of isolation
Theres initially comfort in the isolation but the loneliness is painful
I have nobody to confide with nobody to hug to kiss to feel the torture of my disorder the loneliness gets so bad I contemplate suicide

The Wedding Part 1

Its 8:00 am i have awoken at a ungodly early hour on a clement august Saturday in my old bed in my old house on this supposedly momentous day. Its the day of my fathers wedding day his second wedding nearly 10 years since the traumatic suicide of my mum. 10 years ago my mum killed herself in this same house me and daddy discovered her hanging from a light fixture in the living room. I can still smell the pungent odour of death and despair in our haunted living room.

Today though is a happy joyous occasion for my father or daddy as i affectingly call him. Its a ecstatic day for daddy who after years of withering away in loneliness after years of being stricken with grief has found love. I am happy for him though my fractured neurotic mind is permeated with negative emotions. For weeks months years I’ve been severely depressed to the point of seriously contemplating suicide. I decided in my self indulgent self obsessed mind to kill myself approximately several weeks proceeding this wedding. I don’t want to infringe or in any way despoil daddy’s happiness. Today is also on top of the severe suicidal depression this wedding day for months and weeks has been filling me with panic inducing anxiety. I am cursed with a untreated social anxiety disorder which means i eschew public events such as wedding birthdays or the majority of social functions in favour of being alone in the enclave of my humble abode. Hence this wedding has been giving me vexation for weeks i cant forgo attending my fathers second wedding what will family and friends say. I have to hide my anxiety my melancholic proclivities for an entire day and hope and pray that I don’t suffer a harrowing panic attack. Fortunately I haven’t been asked to speak in the post wedding reception so that relive is alleviating my anxiety.

Laying horizontal nervously tucked inside my old black gothic duvet covers not wanting to vamoose from the cosy warmth of old duvet. Last night I slept maybe an hour of sleep that’s all the acute anxiety that’s been building up for weeks reached a fever pitch last night as I became cognisant of the torture of attending a wedding. A day of unrelenting anxiety having awkward conversations with distant relations having to hide my sadness my deleterious anxiety. Last night my hands were shacking furiously i kept tapping my fingers against the palm of my hands then scratching my legs in a peculiar manner to soothe my stress. Totally unable to fall asleep just being asphyxiated with worry with the fear of a panic attack. I don’t want to reveal my social phobia its why i have reluctantly attended this wedding. I am elated at my father finding love in his early 50’s i want him to live a long happy enriching existence the kind of life i will never experience. However the joy is negated by the tsunami of dysphoria and angst that circulating in my impaired consciousness.

I hear the distant echoes of my father his best man his life long friend Stephen getting ready for the wedding. Stephen stayed last night we got drunk together until we decided to retire to our bedrooms around midnight. Last night drinking beer with my daddy and his old friend was a pleasant experience to reconnect with my daddy and a childhood family friends with the euphoria of alcohol. Today though I’m going to be suffocated with a assortment of humans its going to be pure hell a day trapped in purgatory. I gaze intensely at the familiar surroundings of my old room with my single bed childhood bed. This room hasn’t been transformed into a office daddy has preserved it perfectly. Has quiet sentimental character meant he diligently preserved my room as a memento of my childhood. The posters of my favourite bands and literary heroes were decorated throughout my room. Posters of joy division, Kate Bush Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath were plastered over the magnolia painted walls. I stared for hours at these posters with melancholic eyes on this celebration of the scared institution of marriage and love.

Travelling back to my hometown staying in my suburban house spending extensive time with my father hasn’t dissuaded me from my plan to kill myself. The wedding though has delayed the inevitable suicide none of the exaltation of love would persuade me to stay alive i want death I want to end the torture of being a twenty something being afflicted with depression. In my pink silky jimjams with my legs shacking vehemently i am now ready to get out off my old single bed.

With trepidation I remove the black pristine duvet now i sit upright on the edge of my bed. Spending at least half an hour perusing my phone looking at my twitter feed needing a temporary distraction. I watch an array of entertaining videos on YouTube to distract me from the nightmare of attending a wedding. Putting down my distraction device i use as a crutch when I’m trapped in uncomfortable unfamiliar terrifying social scenarios. I stand on my two hind legs and make my bed making sure my bed looks immaculate. This learned fastidious habit is a way of abating the dysmorphia the restlessness of my abnormal personality. Then after several minutes of assiduously making my bed i saunter over to the vacant bathroom to brush my unsightly teeth and wash my pallid face. Before i venture downstairs to eat a paltry breakfast meal if i can handle eating with a million thoughts pulsating round my emaciated body. I brush wearily with my new fangled electric toothbrush. All the while averting my gaze from the dreaded unforgiving bathroom mirror. Then i wash my face by applying a soaked flannel to my face. This act washes away the cobwebs from my mind i feel fully awake before i apply a exfoliant that removes the grease the muck the scum from my visage. I wash again as my face is tingling as its revitalised after another sleepless night. Now i can venture downstairs to confabulate with my daddy and his best man whilst satiating our appetites with toast and coffee.

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 💔💔💔