Got all I need—materials, quantities, tools, and I'm spiritually ready.
But this fucking genetic heritage stops me killing myself just because, since I exist, I must protect existence. Like it doesn't belong to me at all—I'm its slave when it should be the opposite.
Smarter than a scorpion yet the damn thing has more freedom than me.
Like I'm trapped in someone else's body, forced to follow their rules, half-watching what it does and is and suffers.
Mental illness, autism, ADHD, childhood abuse, beatings, bullying, hazing, humiliation for their fucking entertainment, addictions.
Didn't ask to be born—sure, the most obvious, banal thing said since time began.
Dead a hundred years—I'd be a memory, two hundred—forgotten, three—probably no trace I ever existed.
The pain I'd cause those I love makes me suffer and that's the only part of me that would stick around forever, a wound passed down kid to kid, but really just adding to something already there. Look around. We humans—so fucking predictable.
Cruel to think they'll die too? That every memory of me they struggle to keep will vanish just the same?
The suffering I'd cause—nothing compared to everything else. Even living 125 years they'll all die and their pain disappears.
Not my fault.
Got a fucking IQ of 140. Useless. I've hurt people too, on purpose and not, but I was just a kid when they abused me, when I failed with my learning shit and ADHD at school and teachers treated me like a retard and I got isolated by classmates for being autistic, no friends, when my mother beat me because I couldn't get the books in my head and my father who was never there scolded me and always praised my siblings in front of me—good students, artists, musicians, actors.
Bullied at school, nasty words from ignorant fucks and physically too, right in front of teachers who looked away.
Just one math teacher, fourth year of liceo, looked at my draft paper and made me take tests—free kindness.
Lived thinking I was stupid, slow, guilty of not being a good son, someone who could connect with others.
Then the delusions, voices in my head, images burned in front of my eyes—realized I was crazy.
Took 5 years of humiliation from people who should've spotted it before diagnosing bipolar, another six for ADHD and one for Autism. Then the IQ test.
Don't want to live anymore.
Where was my life in all this? My will? My "free will"?
Where did I ever use my free will in any of this?
Why can't I just end it?
Why can't I beat this survival instinct thing? Never asked to be born, never asked for anything except to be loved. I keep all the real unselfish acts of love and mercy given to me.
If I can't win against it, at least want to trick it.
Maybe today's the day.
Don't know, just wanted to write something.
Just tired, really fucking tired.
Need to fall by accident, cross the street too early, trip, slip. So many people die by accident who wanted to live, in the most absurd fucking ways. Why am I forced to live?
Tired, so tired.
Tired, got a lump in my throat.
Psychologists, psychiatrists, can't get to the bottom. Last one I saw for three years, she was good, didn't get to the core but we talked about lots of stuff, she suggested books, lent them to me, I did the same.
But I'm alone at the end, deeply alone.
Just want it all to stop.
Maybe I'm just whining.
When I think of death I think what others would lose, not me.
Want to end it all.
But this fucking genetic heritage stops me killing myself just because, since I exist, I must protect existence. Like it doesn't belong to me at all—I'm its slave when it should be the opposite.
Smarter than a scorpion yet the damn thing has more freedom than me.
Like I'm trapped in someone else's body, forced to follow their rules, half-watching what it does and is and suffers.
Mental illness, autism, ADHD, childhood abuse, beatings, bullying, hazing, humiliation for their fucking entertainment, addictions.
Didn't ask to be born—sure, the most obvious, banal thing said since time began.
Dead a hundred years—I'd be a memory, two hundred—forgotten, three—probably no trace I ever existed.
The pain I'd cause those I love makes me suffer and that's the only part of me that would stick around forever, a wound passed down kid to kid, but really just adding to something already there. Look around. We humans—so fucking predictable.
Cruel to think they'll die too? That every memory of me they struggle to keep will vanish just the same?
The suffering I'd cause—nothing compared to everything else. Even living 125 years they'll all die and their pain disappears.
Not my fault.
Got a fucking IQ of 140. Useless. I've hurt people too, on purpose and not, but I was just a kid when they abused me, when I failed with my learning shit and ADHD at school and teachers treated me like a retard and I got isolated by classmates for being autistic, no friends, when my mother beat me because I couldn't get the books in my head and my father who was never there scolded me and always praised my siblings in front of me—good students, artists, musicians, actors.
Bullied at school, nasty words from ignorant fucks and physically too, right in front of teachers who looked away.
Just one math teacher, fourth year of liceo, looked at my draft paper and made me take tests—free kindness.
Lived thinking I was stupid, slow, guilty of not being a good son, someone who could connect with others.
Then the delusions, voices in my head, images burned in front of my eyes—realized I was crazy.
Took 5 years of humiliation from people who should've spotted it before diagnosing bipolar, another six for ADHD and one for Autism. Then the IQ test.
Don't want to live anymore.
Where was my life in all this? My will? My "free will"?
Where did I ever use my free will in any of this?
Why can't I just end it?
Why can't I beat this survival instinct thing? Never asked to be born, never asked for anything except to be loved. I keep all the real unselfish acts of love and mercy given to me.
If I can't win against it, at least want to trick it.
Maybe today's the day.
Don't know, just wanted to write something.
Just tired, really fucking tired.
Need to fall by accident, cross the street too early, trip, slip. So many people die by accident who wanted to live, in the most absurd fucking ways. Why am I forced to live?
Tired, so tired.
Tired, got a lump in my throat.
Psychologists, psychiatrists, can't get to the bottom. Last one I saw for three years, she was good, didn't get to the core but we talked about lots of stuff, she suggested books, lent them to me, I did the same.
But I'm alone at the end, deeply alone.
Just want it all to stop.
Maybe I'm just whining.
When I think of death I think what others would lose, not me.
Want to end it all.
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