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Not One Day More

You sick young boy,

I have lived your life, and I know the pain and isolation that you feel because I am you. You think that it is all part of growing up, but still you sense there is something very wrong. There is, and it will get worse. For decades, you will suffer with no hope of becoming well. Years upon years will be spent in therapy; all medications will fail to help you. Your memories will consist of psychiatric hospitals and padded cells. You will be plagued by thoughts of hurting people, killing people and torturing people. Constant worry, even of things that are impossible to happen, will devour you. You will not be able to control your thoughts ever. Terror will rule your existence. You will shake in fear every moment. Afraid of everyone and everything, you are better off dead.

Never will you grow up or be able to function in society. No one will be able to relate to you. You will count and keep count of everything imaginable. When was the last time Easter fell on March 22? The year 1818. How many times has Christmas fallen on a Friday in your lifetime? Six. How many seconds have passed since you were born? 1,460,840,040 and counting. It will never, ever stop. Please make it stop! You will feel the unconquerable urge to remember everything. What date were you last constipated? What was the first song youíve ever heard? How many times did you urinate 20 years ago today? What did you eat on that day? You must remember. You must remember everything. Shut it off! Shut it off! You canít.

Employment will be impossible, as your thoughts cannot be trained, and all people will be seen as your enemy. You will be misunderstood and hated by everyone, and you will hate all of them for it. Females, especially, will despise you as they will see you as repulsive and of no value. Despite your hatred of them, you will desire their company but resent them even more for the pull they will have on you. Dreams of normalcy will stay just that - frustrating dreams. Even those who offer affection for a price will never let you anywhere near them, not at any price. Needs will be suppressed. No pleasures of any kind will you ever feel. You will lack the ability to feel anything but fear, anger, confusion, rage and hatred. You will never make friends. Family can only watch in horror as your fires burn continuously. Death is the only way to extinguish it. You will never experience happiness, contentment, joy, or peace, and the only laughter you will ever know is that of an insane mind. Tears will become your identity until there are no more tears to cry. Hatred and fear are all that your abject life will be.

You will hate yourself. I know, because for so long, I have hated you. Forever the sixth of April will be cursed. You havenít a single reason to live another day, not one day more. This is just a small part of your futureís reflections. It will be far more horrible than what I have written. Life will not be what you choose to make of it, for your brain can never choose. If you were beyond pathetic there would be hope, but you are and always will be far worse. You are already doomed. Hold tightly to this letter. Stand in the place where it will all begin. Look the world in the eyes and end your life there in front of your classmates to save yourself from what will be a life impossible to live. Believe me, it will be. You were born to be forgotten, nothing more than splatter on the classroom chalkboard. Precious is life only when thoughts can be controlled. Always know just how much I hate you.

From the only one who understood you.




Written to my younger self for the "Birthday letters" Competition.
 †
Written by Mourningcloak
Published | Edited 24th Oct 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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