They Should Have Just...
As a literature major, I know that meta text is very often frowned upon, and it is commonly not considered an effective way of narrating nor making an impression on the reader. Especially text about the process of creating the text is very bad and should always be avoided. It very rarely offers any important insight or serves a significant role in the context of the text, so all writers are told to stay away from it.
But, like in many other ways, I am just a little too different, and I have to stray away from the norms and conventions that even my own field of study has posed on me.
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I have been struggling with trying to find a way to end this chapter. I have had all illustrations finished for quite some time now, but I have just not been able to write a conclusion to this extremely heavy and taxing topic. No matter how much I write, how many art pieces I make, I feel like nothing will ever be enough to describe the true emotions that I harbor toward suicide. That is why I have almost not wanted to end this chapter: I have postponed it, because I feel like there is no conclusion to any of this. I just cannot write an ending to an issue so complex and nuanced, that it would almost be better to just leave it there and never go back again.
There is also that sick part of me, the disorder, that keeps telling me that the only way to properly end this chapter would be to turn it into the final chapter of my whole life. But I have been able to silence that thought so far pretty well.
bathroom part 2.
Because what other conclusion could there be to suicide than death? It is about death, after all, and it would feel kind of half-assed to leave it without a striking and very fitting ending like that. But I guess I have to give up that thought entirely now, if I desire to keep telling my story, like I remind myself every day that I do.
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Thinking back on all the times people have told me to kill myself, that the world would be a better place without me in it, that no one out there would miss me, has very often made me question one thing. Why didn't they just do it themselves? I mean, sure, homicide is illegal in Finland, but so were all the other things they did to me. As far as I am aware and educated on Finnish legislation, I have been a victim of three crimes – multiple times. So why could they not just add 'murder' or 'assisted suicide' to the list?
Everything always comes back to them. The reason why I am hurting this way, why I am having these thoughts and feelings, is everything that they did to me. People who were pretending to be my Friends, people who just wanted to abuse me for the fun of it, people who lured me in with their pretty façade... I would not be thinking about killing myself if none of that had happened. Their words and actions are the Blade and the Knife burning in my hands, begging to be pressed against my scarred skin. The trauma they left behind is what is making me bleed today, wishing for death.
There are times when I wonder if any of this is actually worth this pain. If life is worth living when you are as sick as I am, and when mental health professionals tell you that nobody can ever take your pain away from you; do I even want to sit here and experience several decades of such misery? The thought of living longer than 40 years is agonizing to me. Oftentimes, I feel like the life I was given as an aftermath of my abuse is the actual torture. I would take being abused any day over this. Any. Day.
...Done it,
ichigonya
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