In A Week I Will Be Dead

Chapter Thirty-Two: Gravestone

!!!TW!!!

Suicide and SH references

IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING, CALL THE SAMARITANS ON 116 123 <3 <3 <3

Myself

This feeling in my stomach has grown stronger. It kinda hurts now, I think it's my body's way of telling my mind to fuck off for a while. Too late. My mind has taken hold of everything else, and the battle for my sanity has been lost.

I check my emails, and notice two new ones have arrived. The second one says: 'DON'T READ THE FIRST EMAIL'. So, I listen, and knowing it will finish me off, begin to read.

If you're reading this, it means you're probably still alive which is a failure on my behalf. You really should be admitted to shock therapy you know. You're too messed up. They should rebuild Victorian asylums especially for people like you. My previous email was a joke to see how much love and affection I could give, to show how easily it can be ripped away again. You simply don't matter, and it would be better if you just died.

Thank you,

The whole of the human race.

I'm not even going to read the first email. I can't. I'm typing my emotions as I process them, writing maybe of the rawest letters I will ever write.

My Migraine:

You know when you get a headache it feels like a balloon is being blown up in your head. Some people experience migraines, which is the next level. This is the difference between being sad depressed and depressed depressed. One does not simply say 'I have a migraine' when one gets a headache. These people irritate me.

It makes me laugh when people older than me say 'oh you'll understand pain when you grow up' and I'm there like 'I know it already'. I think I have an old soul. I understand pain at such a young age, and I'm worried that if I get older I will be so used to it that I won't have a soul anymore. I mean – I almost lost it through writing this lettery book thing. But I caught it again only in preparation to be ripped from my body. I'm getting a headache just worrying about it.

I used to be in two minds about my life, one half would say:

'What if the pain never ends? What if I'm sad forever and ever? I don't think I can live with this agony for my entire life.'

The other side would say:

'But then, I'm too cowardly to end it either. I won't seek help, and I won't off myself. Therefore, I'm continually caught in a loop of depression. Round and round and round like a merry-go-round. But it's not a merry-go-round. It's a sadness-go-round.'

But now I think:

'When can I stop thinking?'

To summarise, the person who I thought would save me will end me. They believed that all lunatics should be submitted to Victorian styled asylums. They said mad people should go through shock therapy. They said many things in a tiny paragraph. I've now left their presence, disgusted at myself about the wrong decision I've made. I am now contemplating my life choices, and one of them is contemplating life itself.

My mind screams for death, my body screams for something less drastic. For something which I do normally on occasions like this one. To enter my little wonderland and come back out right as rain. But the rain has turned to hail, and there is no other side. I'm caged in this nightmare, and I'm in a coma. I'm going to die.

It's Wonderful:

They say that when you see something you like your pupils dilate. First kiss, first embrace, first glow of sunshine. We associate the ever-growing black holes in the centre of our irises with actions of desire. So, it came as a shock to me when my pupils also dilated.