Note from a dying stranger #1

jon laa wrote on December 25th, 2009, 2:35 am

No better way to put it actually. It’s so much more convenient to be dead than to live with discontentment, misery and whatever not.

Does that constitute to being suicidal?

If they would just stop their endless yakking. It’s not so much of whether I know or not, it’s more of whether I want to do it or not. And I’m pretty sure I know however much they can say wouldn’t make a difference to who I become or who I am or who I will be.

They might as well determine my last day here.

It feels as if this is the last goodbye, and that I will leap out of the window of the building I hate most. Just so to inculcate fear in those who are associated with it. It’s always nice to know that your death serve a dual purpose, something else other than relief.

:)

I really take gratification in writing this.

If really I breathe my last on this christmas day, I wouldn’t really know what to say to everybody. Don’t even think I’d be sorry. I wonder who will shed some tears for me though. And I wonder who will be happy for me.

Like over dinner I was telling tyris, one of those people whom I haven’t met up with since graduation (which is really a long time), how miserable the family is and how fixated they are on assets, monetary wealth and the prospects of their investments. If my death could ease the pain of the self-proclaimed instability of their financial state, I’ll remedy it.

It wasn’t my fault I am here. I never wanted it. Nor mine that I grew up like this.

Nobody seem to take responsibility over who I am. In those impressionable years, where were you?

I never ever quite realised those parents were my parents. The fact that I was the singular, never quite pampered and always dealing with the losing end makes me no different from an unwanted child - an accident perhaps. I couldn’t have been adopted, unless out of abundance of sympathy, because it was evident - at least then - they didn’t want a child.

They seem to have a lot to say though, especially about other people’s child-raising. Maybe somebody could go convey the message how screwed up it has become. No, not so much of being mentally unsound, it’s the reality of a self-perceived experimental mind with barely any fear for death, what is here and what is to come.

The pain is where I have to try to be normal.

In fact, after years of silences and authoritative upbringing, which you have grown so proud of, I really wonder on what basis do you demand communication. Besides hearing lamentations and uncountable unresolved grievances, and unsound refutable claims of being poor and penniless, all there was was silence.

I never spoke because I was not spoken to.

Isn’t that difficult to pretend to be happy, sociable and extrovert have you not already known? I hear people saying how much I’ve changed since enlistment - what a joke. Ever heard of self-defense mechanism?

Then when I breathed my last, I’d like to lay quietly above the unsettling hysterical cries of pain, sorrow and undefined misery. It is when you know all you did was wrong - it started when you think all was right.

In love which never existed thus never heard, known or comprehended,
unnamed