Suicide Letter

It’s early. The sun has yet to descend on this world; the air, still groggy, awaits the liberation of warmth. If I were to step out right now, I’d smell the air; pungent, humid; and the silence would immerse me. I want to be like this forever. I want the endlessness of sleep, I want to lie forever, like in permanent twilight, and feel the nothingness of tranquility. 1

Why am I here again? I’ve felt the futility of life for too long now. I live in a cycle of continuity, a vacuum, a black hole, where there is but the simplicity of routine, the suffocation of paranoia. I wake in the mornings, and feel too old; I step out on the streets, and feel sick from the noise. I sit all day, resting beneath my covers, and I feel the burden of having wasted so much time. 2

I linger, hoping, endlessly, that someone, anyone, would turn their heads, and remind me why we strive, why we fight. But all I see is forgetfulness and pain. All I see is decadence. All I see is struggle. And what stupid sickness is this, that I will let it drown me, before I pull the plug with my own hands? 3

I tried to fight; and don’t we all? And how many days can you hold on, lifting your head up with mantras, feeling the placebo of self-reassurance? 4

One more day. One more day. And then the days become months, and the months become years. You start off so well, but running eventually leaves you gasping for breath. Murkiness suppresses forced enthusiasm, until, who gives a shit? 5

They say it always gets better. What if it doesn’t? What if you live so desperately for so long, that the phrase begins to look comical? I have wasted too many years in melancholy. I’m sick of feeling afraid. Fear is one of those things which grip you, fermenting the depth of your soul with helplessness, until the colors become evanescent, and happiness becomes an abstraction. Until the only things you see are dark; until even light seems like a treacherous enemy, until you are tired even of affection, until even love becomes disgusting. I won’t let it destroy me anymore.6

I guess I blame the distance. There is so much distance; we all float like waves in an endless ocean, grasping for strongholds that don’t exist, and the faces that we learn to love, the hands we learn to long for, they are all eventually carried off by the currents, leaving us to drown in our memories. 7

I will miss you. But I have missed you for all this time; and the eternity of our separation has not eased my heart into repose; it still howls in the long nights of winter, still jumps erratically when the broken remnants of our life together resurface from the past, it still hopes, it still wishes, it still lingers. And I suppose it’s true that hope is the last thing to die, because it is the murderer of all life. 8

You will join me in the afterlife, won’t you? Please promise me this, for it is my greatest wish, my only wish. 9

The sun has woken up. Light has begun to seep through the corners of life’s slumbering consciousness. 10

I won’t say I’m sorry, for this is no mistake; only say that you will love me, always, and my salvation will be complete. 11

Farewell now, my love, for my time of departure has come at last. 12

Ariana13