If I Wrote A Suicide Note

 note

 

The roller coaster of events happening in life right now has forced me to look back and try to reevaluate my life in a more critical light. I am probably facing what is the worst crisis in my life at the moment. Every time I look ahead, I see no light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes, these crazed thoughts pop into my head to end it all and take the suffering away. It would be a bitch move but it would surely get the job done. It’s cowardice to run away but hey, is it cowardice if it ends my suffering from a seemingly endless path of constant ridicule and agonizing thoughts? I have been thinking and thinking and pondering. Whatever conclusion I arrive at makes my decision for me. I am facing issues and there is no bit of motivation to push or drive me towards some purpose. The people you would think hold my interest best at heart seem not to understand me hence what they call a pep talk is a constant hammer blow to a nail in a coffin. I’m like a pool of despair where there is no motivation; I cannot bring myself out of this ditch. If I’m thinking of biting the proverbial bullet, it’s only fair I leave a suicide note. Hence, the title, “If I wrote a suicide note…” If I wrote a suicide note, would it be a grand description of my failures or woeful attempts at blaming others for my flaws? It would probably be an amalgamation of both; a mixture of disjointed symphonies to produce a horrible excuse for an explanation about why I should give up. I have always wanted to ask those suicidal maniacs what their thoughts were for going ahead to end their own lives. Well, I guess I should feel giddy now because it looks like the tables have turned and I get to ask myself that same question. Why end it? Isn’t life beautiful? I have always been a staunch believer in the belief that in life, we all play the same game, just different levels and that we live in the same hell, just different devils. What might be your pinacolada might just be my mixture of bitter herbs and spices. Anyway, the journey here didn’t just start in one day; it is something that has been building up over time. To understand why I’m this way, it’s best to get a feel of the core of my thought process.

It all stemmed off from being the only child of overbearing and overachieving parents. Yes, my parents never ceased to keep informing me that I was their property, they brought me into this world and have my best interests at heart. To them, they know what is best for me even better than I do. In a way, they might me right but it’s only fair they know the individual first before knowing what’s best for him. What my parents know about me is basically what they’ve imposed on me. Although, right now, in their eyes, I’m a huge disappointment, a colossal failure, the one who never appreciates opportunities and keeps throwing away golden tickets. They never cease to remind me this in all our discussions albeit ever so subtly. All I keep hearing from the crux of their statements is that they probably would have been far better off if they had one-tenth the opportunities I have been given. Again, they are probably right because hearing their life stories for the millionth time has taught that they had it quite rough growing up. But still, they barely know my story just what they’ve imposed or choose to see. Take my education for example, for some idiotic decisions on my part, I came out with a second class degree: lower division in Electrical and Electronics Engineering. Some people might look at it as an okay result, some might look at it as a disgrace. Well, my parents belong to that second group. And once again, considering the money they spent and the school I attended, they might be right again. Any time the issue of my result comes up in our discussions, they are ready to tell the history of how promising I was in primary school and my early days in secondary school till I dropped and became ordinary and later on, under ordinary. My mum says I don’t have a result. I’m guessing my dad once wanted to be a professor because he has tried to impose that thought on me numerous times. “Why don’t you have the drive to make it and become like one of these respected professors? Because you are lazy and unwilling to put in the effort.” Right again. I am a passive guy these days, looking for my next laugh or thrill to keep the depression at bay. If I let the words enter me, I would probably crumble and I won’t be able to hold myself which I have to do cos ‘hard guy’. Stay on my laptop, looking for something to take my mind away from the fact that I am failure in my eyes and in the eyes of the people who are supposed to have my back in all things. Don’t get me wrong; I am on hating on my parents. I am just against their parenting style. I would probably do better if I had parents who were ride or die but mine just hide behind the shroud of religion. Where they don’t know the answer, they turn to God and tell me to ask him for answers. I probably don’t talk to God much. I’m no atheist but I’m actually not a very good Christian and the way my parents tell it, I’m no Christian at all so how can I ask God for help when I’m not even serving him? Can you collect salary from a company you don’t work for?

I am tired of the constant vague answers, the “I want more drive and motivation from you” and the rest. Some people might lap that up from my parents as they never cease to tell me, but right now, I’m a dog without a bone and wouldn’t mind if you would point me to where I would get some. I wonder what drive they want. For them, my laptop should be my enemy numero uno but it’s where I find solace, what keeps my demons away. I don’t know what I would if I should just up and leave it. I would just sit around the house being extra bored. It’s not like I don’t have good stuff to do on my laptop. My books and writings and things I check up on are all on my laptop and it would be a shame if I lose em all. But no, nobody understands. They all want me to be this perfect little boy who questions nothing, has straight A’s, sings Kumbaya in church and a whole bunch of stuff that isn’t who I am.

Growing up as an only child in an overprotective home meant boredom and no friends or people to talk to. My parents would always screen my friends and most of them barely meet their criteria because you have to be perfect in the eyes of my parents to be my friend, preferably a prayer warrior or someone who slays demons with his Bible. Now when I see other people talk about how close their friends are to their parents, I laugh because my parents don’t even know my friends. Heck, they barely know anything related to my wants, only what they provide and boy, do they provide. But it’s only material stuff, no affection. I have never hugged my parents.

In truth, I’m a professional slacker. Not that I don’t want stuff to do but it has to hold my full attention or else you’ll lose me to something else which humors me because the core of my life is humor. Another thing is I don’t want to be the guy on top of the world. To my parents, that’s the craziest thing I could ever think of but it’s who I am. I want to be the lowkey guy or the guy in the background, the anon guy who is just living his life with ease and making no noise about it. But that’s a bunch of sod to my parents. They have lived in this sort of chocolate dream that I was somehow supposed to turn out like the perfect cookie; the one who bore the weight of the expectations of everyone and took it like a champ. And now when things aren’t going according plan and it’s dawning on them, there is a disturbance in the Force. They can’t seem to want to accept the current me. There’s even a plan to reboot who I am. “Go back to school and get a better grade. You can do it if you put your head down…” Probably the worst pep talk ever.

I have not made the correct decisions in this life. In truth, I’m probably seventy percent to blame for my woes but I shouldn’t bear them alone. This is just me ranting incoherently out of pent-up emotion. This is probably my worst construction with no plot line or core whatsoever but still it comes from the heart. Hopefully, I get to move past this and tell my kids that I once wrote a suicide note but if it turns I don’t, hey, I wrote a suicide note. Give it to the Suicide Squad for me as my last request. Goodbye.

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