I write this letter to explain my actions. Please don’t think of me selfish for committing an end to my life. Partly, it’s because I can’t hold on to what motivation I have left to live. Partly, I needed to escape.
I’ve been trying to do so for years now, through parties and friends and drinks and bad habits. I’ve even resorted to doing drugs. I’ve lied and I’ve cheated and stolen, but these impulsive actions did no good to arouse my excitement for the so-called mysteries of life. To me, there really is nothing to look forward to.
I have been unable to confide to anyone why I feel how I feel at a particular moment. I’ve always thought that no words can explain why I’m sad, depressed or always feeling alone.
But before I go into a page full or more of explanation as to why, I apologize to the people who have tried to make me feel comfort. I apologize to the people who thought they had made me happy and lose this feeling of insecurity. I apologize to the people who thought they had given me love. I apologize to the people who feel as if I’ve left them behind.
My time is now, I believe. There is no right way to explain how I feel or why I feel what I feel. But here it is, my attempt to lay down my emotions that I’ve buried but are real.
I feel like any moment now, my heart will explode. There’s an adrenaline. It’s beating fast, too fast. My thoughts are jumbled and I feel suffocated. The very air I breathe suffocates me, and I need space to catch it back. There’s a heavy weight on my shoulders, and I can’t shrug it off. I can’t say what’s on my mind because I’ve run out of sensible things to do. My legs are shaking, and my fingers can’t stop tapping on this wooden table. My eyes are erratically gazing around me. I long for some air. I need some air. I feel suffocated.
I’ve always wanted to fly. I always believed that we could fly; that somehow there was a way to fly aside from riding on an airplane or going bungee jumping. I’ve always wanted to fly, and I didn’t care for the hazards of flying.
When I think fly, I think air. I so badly need to catch my breath. I need it back. I can’t breathe, and I need to breathe. I need to feel alive. But I’m exhausted. I’m so, so exhausted. I need to rest, but I can’t because I can’t breathe. I need my breath. I need air. I need to fly.
So, here I am looking down on all that there is to look down on. I feel like a God. I feel blasphemous but fulfilled. I’m still having a hard time to breathe. I’m sitting on the edge of this roof not knowing why I feel how I feel. I sit on this edge of this roof not knowing why I’ll do what I do.
But this is the way I die. This is how I will die, and before I finally commit an end to my life, I shall tell you why.