I want to die. Perhaps you have always heard these words from me before or read this awful statement on my previous blog posts. No, I’m not telling this to seek a little bit of your attention and care or to receive words of encouragements that you think might help my soul to at least feel alive. I am not doing this to make you wonder how stupid my life is. I am not saying these words to make you realize, that I am so unhappy and down, that I need you to make me feel loved. However, you need not to give such effort in trying to change the way I think or to make me feel I am important, that I still need to continue and live life amidst all struggles. Please, don’t.
When I wake-up in the morning and sleep at night, I always feel the same. I don’t want to get up in bed every morning because I feel so heavy like I’m carrying the whole world full of shits; and at night, I always feel scared, alone, sad and empty. No matter how hard I try to rescue myself, I still feel the same. I’m tired of people. I’M TIRED OF EVERYTHING.
I thought the reason of all these were my parent’s separation, their new families, the moments I saw Mom wasted, drinking beer and crying all her sadness in front of me, my sister’s unwise decisions in life, my nephew’s condition, my dad’s slip ups, the people I used to call “friends”, the wrong choices I have made, the hatred I have inside, or the doubts and hesitations I have in myself— but I was wrong. This is different. It’s worse than any other reasons.
I always wanted to die, wishing for a car to hit me or maybe to jump off in a 10-storey building; until I savor and feel how fast the wind would take me to a peaceful place they call paradise. I want to die because that is what I always feel.
I know, I’m weak.