Last night, I wanted to kill myself. The depression that I felt was so deep that I saw no other option except to end my life.
I was taking a bath and I wondered how it would feel like if I just drowned myself.
Would it hurt?
Would I be able to consciously remain submerged in water until my lungs burst?Of course it would be difficult since I would have to keep my head inside a pail of water that was no more than a few liters full.
Then I thought of slashing my wrists but I remembered that I’ve always cringed at the sight of blood.
So, suffice it to say that I did neither for I wouldn’t be writing this nonsense now had I succeeded last night.
So now, my depression is complete for I had just realized that I would not be able to end my own life. I’m just too squeamish and too much of a coward.
Perhaps it would be better if I found an accomplice in ending my worthless existence.
Someone who would be brave enough to push me in the middle of the South Luzon Expressway (not during rush hour, of course, since the cars hardly move at this time of day), or callous enough to put arsenic in my morning coffee or crazy enough to hack me to death while I slept.
The possibilities are endless, actually. I just have to find the right person to do it.
Hiring an experienced killer is out of the question, though.
I don’t think they’re cheap enough to accept a hundred bucks as payment for such a dastardly act (that’s all I’m willing to shell out for my demise, a little more than that would be too much for a worthless creature such as myself, better donate the money to charity!)
Perhaps I should just hang out in the more seedy neighborhoods of Metro Manila and hope for the worst.
Who knows, I just might get lucky enough to get caught in the middle of a cross-fire during a robbery or even a gang war.
But then, knowing how stupid I can be, I would probably run and hide at the first sound of gunfire, forgetting that I went there to get shot at in the first place! lol!
So, let’s scratch that one out for now.
Besides, I’m never lucky enough for anything of that sort to happen to me.
The gang war or robbery would probably take place a few minutes after I leave.
I do have a knack for avoiding spectacular events, you know.
And so, my search for a way to end my life continues.
I think I’ll just think about it tomorrow. I’d have to be more imaginative than this!
God! Why can’t I just get hit by lightning or ran over by a speeding train?
Nah! That’s too painful for my taste! After all, I’m trying to get killed not tortured to death!
It’s one of those days again.
Depression is beginning to slowly creep in.
I try so hard to understand what I’m really feeling but it’s useless.
Why do I even bother to write these memoirs?
No one’s going to read it! And why do I still bother checking the grammar?
No one’s going to give a s&*#t what I write here anyway.
I’m beginning to feel angry again, at myself, at the people around me, at everything around me.
Why does it always feel like I have no control over my life?
Why does one person’s opinion matter so much?
If this is what being in love means, then I’d rather be out of love.
When you are in love, the world suddenly stops spinning around you. It’s as if your whole universe made a sudden right turn towards another universe.
Then, suddenly, you feel like you are being swallowed up by a black hole. Everything is put on hold, waiting for a single ray of sunshine from the one source of light in your universe, the LOVED ONE.
I just feel so frustrated, so weak, so useless! I want to cry but even my tears do not listen to me anymore. What kind of feeling is this?
It seems to destroy the very fragment of my being.
Perhaps I think too much, or maybe I’m too sensitive.
I don’t know anymore.
What’s the use of living if an outside force dictates your very existence?
How did I ever get into this situation, anyway?
Did I make a conscious effort to fall in love? I really don’t know.
The question I should really ask is: Is this really love?
They say that love is a many-splendored thing, but so far, the only “splendor” I have ever felt was between the sheets.
Is that all there is to it? Am I demanding too much?
The more I think about it, the less sense it makes.
It probably would be better if I go back to planning my inevitable exit from this wretched existence.
That, at least, gives me something to look forward to.
I have this feeling that my life is just one big mistake.
NOTHING I ever do seems to go right. It’s as if I made a wrong turn a long time ago and I just kept on going that way. I feel like a cork floating on an ocean of nothingness.
I could almost feel my life slipping away, slipping like sand through my fingers.
Why does my brain keep on spinning? I find no peace, not even in my sleep (no matter how brief it is.)
I wish I could just stop breathing so that this wretched existence will finally cease.
But how does one wish for death without causing it directly? I know I can’t kill myself, I’m too squeamish, but I have lost track of the number of times that I have prayed for death to come.
In fact, when before I used to pray for God‘s protection in my sleep so that I would live to see another sunrise, now, I pray to ask God to TAKE me in my sleep so that I would no longer have to look at another sunrise!
But I guess, we don’t always get what we pray for, do we?
And then, there are also times when I wonder if it is really death that I’m wishing and praying for.
Am I not just asking for some divine intervention to get me out of the rut I’m in?
Perhaps what I’m really asking for is the miracle to BELIEVE AGAIN.
For I know, I feel that in the deep recesses of my soul, there’s still this small part of me that wants to hang on, to keep on fighting, a small part that seems to say that death IS the coward’s way out and not the real answer to my quest.
God! How I hate that small part of me! I wish IT would go away, I wish IT would die so that I could go on with killing myself!!!!!
There may still be hope, however, for this small part of me, this tiny voice that stills my hand from slashing my wrists or putting poison to my lips is growing fainter and weaker every day.
With every disappointment that I suffer, with every thorn that gets lodged inside my heart, with every dream that gets crushed by reality, that voice loses strength and clarity.
Sometimes, it’s barely a whisper inside my mind.
Perhaps, there really is hope.
Who knows, one of these days, that voice might stop whispering altogether and I would finally succeed in jumping off a cliff or even tying that rope around my neck?
Ah, death! What a welcome reprieve you would be for this wretched soul. I could hardly wait for you to come!!!!!!!!!!!!!