The diary of Seth Alexander

still rotting

⚠️ tw/ suicide

I watch my body rot.

Like a carcess in the desert heat, I watch as my body deteriorates.

As the skin falls from my bones and the stench sets in.

The blood drying up in my veins.

My dead eyes staring blankly.

You ask me if I've always wanted to die like this.

Rotting.

I tell you that I didn't think about it all that much.

I just knew that I wanted to die. I didn't care about what happened after.

I didn't think about the smell or how my corpse would look or how my family would react to the emptiness in my eyes.

I just knew that living would be more painful than any wound on my arms or my chest, or the fall, or the impact of my body hitting the ground.

My dying liver or dry heaving throat.

Every day I took a step closer to death.

I taunted it. I dared it to take me. The taunting became demanding. The demanding became begging and each time death said no.

And yet I'm still rotting.

My body deteriorating even as my heart still beats heavily inside my aching chest.

Sometimes I think that my first attempt was the one that worked.

That ever since I've been living out a self fulfilling prophesy.

That my being alive is the only torture I need.

So I relive it over and over again. Each time I reach for death it slams the door closed in my face and forces me to relive the cycle over and over again.

The prolonged agony or almost.