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Penultimate

This is not a suicide note. 

I am not allowed to do that. That would make me the bad guy. If things were a bit different though I would deffo be eating toast in the bath.

I hope I get ill again. That would be perfect. The only problem with getting ill last time was that I got better. I was ready. I was ‘at peace’. Then, as now, I have had enough.

I am always tired, I always hurt. I am never shown any love and I don’t really do anything I enjoy.

All the things I am supposed to enjoy either I don’t or I get stopped from doing by other people who are supposed to care about me.

I am now old enough to know I will never get what I want in my life. This is it, my best days are behind me and I wasted them on making do.

The sun comes out and I get sunburn in the hope that it will fix my skin. In the hope it will make me better. It just makes my skin fall off in different ways and hurt from a new angle.

I look for stuff to fill the box I live in. The space is getting smaller and everything falls down every time I move.  I can smell something bad living behind the clutter. We all wake up with sore throats every day.  Something is slowly killing us. Not softly. Not softly.

When I tell the truth I am treated like a liar. When I tell a lie I am treated the same. What do you think I am going to do? What trust can I break? Who wants to see my disease? Nobody.

I want to help people that don’t want to be helped. People that grow lemon trees, climb them and then pick them and eat the fruit.

I am made to feel guilty for everything I do. For everywhere I go and everything I eat.

I take vitamin B6 so I will dream. I can’t even escape into sleep. The only option I have at night is drugs or catching up on films I didn’t want to watch in the first place.

Poor me. Small violins etc.

I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I am not worth feeling sorry for. I am insignificant. I am a mushroom that grows in the shade. I just don’t want to grow any more.

I have had enough.

This is not a suicide note.

Definitely not.

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