I wish I could just do it and get it done with.
People who have read my posts on here, will know that I was severely abused throughout my childhood. Physically, sexually, verbally, neglect...You name it. I lived it. It was dark, despicable, disgusting.
I don't have the physical or emotional energy to reiterate the finer details, but here's a fairly recent general
summary. There's a lot of graphic information omitted from this, because the details of what happened to me just wear down my soul too much.
What strikes me is that, I have survived things no-one should go through, especially not a child.
Despite all of that, it's so hard to take that final step. I am so scared of dying, even though life has brought unbearable and irremediable suffering both physically and psychologically. My body is broken. My spirit is shattered. There is nothing to salvage, no future to cling on for.
Yet I cling on still. To the remaining ruins of this lifelong shipwreck. Why? Why am I holding on? Why did I survive all of this shit? Why am I
still here? Even when my fear has diminished, all previous attempts were unsuccessful.
And today, I am fearful of something that will finally bring this suffering to an end.
Logically, I understand that of course dying is hard. It's scary, potentially painful and dying by our own hands goes against every instinct we have to stay alive at any cost. It goes against the very belief systems most of us are raised in too, one that places great emphasis on protecting and preserving life.
Even with that knowledge, I still think to myself...The process of dying by drinking some damn salt
cannot be more painful or frightening for me than the experiences I've endured in life. It can't compare to the staggering deterioration after years of disability, chronic illness and pain. It can't compare to the agony of being beaten, raped, strangled, smothered and forced to do depraved things that no-one should ever have to do.
Yet here I am. Still fucking here.