This life was not made for me. I am not strong. I cannot survive.
I am a murderer. I am a coward. I am a freak. I am a mistake.
What life is this? Is this a sick joke God decided to play on me? Is this the end he has decided me? But it’s too late. I have made my decisions. I would like to die. This time I’m not holding on. I will let go.
I will accept my cowardice.
No longer will I have to live with the guilt, with the pain, with the scars, with the bullies, with the social anxieties and bulimia. I won’t have to face my unforgiving and untrustworthy father. I won’t have to face the wreck of my perfect brother. I won’t have to face my sister who I am breaking with my pain.
I know others have struggles much greater than mine, but I still have my own pain. Because I have not lived another life and this life is the only pain I have known. Therefore, I cannot be wrong.
It is not me who is the killer here. Life itself and all its surprises is the killer. Bullies Kill.
I will run from life, like myself running from a bully in the hallways of a school who said they could help.
I will greet my end, death, like an old friend. Like my destiny. Like something I would always have to face.
No one has seen this book. This tale.
These invisible struggles.