The Suicide Notes

Note #3: Dear the Nonexistant God

Dear God,

By now, we all know you don't exist. Even most of those Christians out there know that there isn't a man standing above our heads, making every decision for our lives, changing our fates, setting our track. Science ruined that for them.

So, you're supposedly one man.

Just one man.

Even if you did exist, you wouldn't have time nor energy to control seven billion people all at once. Every four seconds, a new baby is born. Does that mean you teleport to a different woman every four seconds?

Didn't think so.

So why am I writing to you?

Because I wanted to see if there could be a glimmer of hope for me. I don't need much, just a speck. Just a tiny speck of hope.

So maybe I'm not the best kid in the world. I have my bads and guilts.

I've done many, many wrong things.

That's how I was born.

"God is the creator of all."

I have you to blame. You made me this way.

I was born a normal child, whatever defines 'normal' anymore. I was the typical young little girl; energetic, free-spirited, happy. I liked flowers and sunshine; the great outdoors. I took ballet with my best friend at the time. I played with other kids at recess. I was average.

Everything was going smoothly like a slow-moving river. But every river becomes a waterfall, right?

You took my life, and decided that you were bored with it, so you twirled it around your little finger and made some adjustments. You made my life into a waterfall. It took a deep plunge downwards.

You messed with the wrong string. That one string that you pulled, flipped every other. You took away nearly everything from me. You gave me this sickness. You made me miserable. You made my life miserable because of this.

It's not anything near deadly. It definitely won't kill me. I won't ever have to get hospitalized for it, just a couple medicines here and there.

I know there are people out there who hhave it much worse, but I'm not those people am I? No. Like any other person, I put my life first. So I'm talking about me. I've had this for 9 years now. Nine years of dealing with it. At times, I felt as if I were a normal human. At times, I felt absolutely hideous.

Just yesterday, I was fine. I had been fine for the past 9 months. Everything was going great. But all is calm before a storm, ain't it? It started again today. I told myself it would be okay. But at the end of day, it still wasn't okay. I cried to myself silently.

I'm done with this shit. I am absolutely done. I don't want to deal with it anymore.

You got any hope and chance for me?

Not even a speck to spare.