Dear You,
On my own judgement, I have willingly chosen to take my own life. Suicide,yes. Firstly, I ask, please do not mourn too much, as you have always done. Treat my body as you have my 13/14/15 years here, as an undesirable carcass. Do not be sad or angry at me, or anyone else except yourself. I wish it would not have come to this, to guilt trip you, but yes, it is your ignorance, your lack of respect, your lack of concern, of humanity, of morality, of ethics, of knowledge, of common sense. You are the ones who have so blissfully ignored my pain, even if I couldn't show it you could have tried. I want you to remember me as a result of your ignorance of your fucking selfish selves. I hope you will learn from this and prevent further rescue missions such as this. Maybe this will be broadcast on the news, used in a newspaper or journal. I don't care, but I would prefer its publication so more people can suffer from their ignorance. You have not cared. You have piled things upon me like you have never believed. It is the lack of sociality that has contributed, too. The lack of any moral fiber in any people one can call "friends". I had no friends. They were all fucking losers who are complete idiots and are self-obsessed and unethical. They joke about things that are completely ridiculous. Everyone is like this though. The only way out is death, no matter what anyone says. I have contemplated over a new identity, but all people are bastards. The only way out is death, where there are no judges. Whether or not I will die is up to my personal will, and if I don't, then I have shamed myself, all a more reason to die. I have attempted suicide before, by self-strangulation by belts and shower hoses. I was have been too wimpy to die. But it has come to this. It is the hopefulness of the future that has kept me alive this far, but it has so fully dissapointed me. Millions of philosophical thoughts race through my head so fast it may as well burn up my brain, which I wouldn't mind. No one has helped me. I still love my family, but as I have seen, your lives would be much better without me. Same with all of your lives. It will g on as normal, since you have always ignored me. The growing pressure of society and school has compressed my thoughts so tight , I was contemplating a school shooting, but getting my hands on weapons was too risky. I have thought these thoughts for three months, after I read perks. It is much like Catcher in the Rye was to MDC. I am Charlie. I am him. Except worse, I have no friends. I have not benefited from teachers I would hope were helpful, such as my dissapointment with -----, and the romantic downgrading(?) --------. This lack of external action has so damaged my internal action I have been unsuccessful to try to save my life. I am leaving all that is mine to the people that need it. I have loved you, but I have not been truly loved. No one has had authentic caring for me, or that is not by guilt. If my suicide is unsuccessful, I will try to run away, and die on my own.
I don't believe in God, nor have I for the past year(s). These thoughts have consumed my life. I can no longer sustain this terrible weight. I must leave.
For statistical purposes, I have considered myself mildly bi-sexual and have diagnosed myself with bi-polar disorder. No rape or anything.
PS: Donate all possible of my organs.



This is the suicide note I wrote two years ago in Eighth grade. Not much has changed, except I don't hate other people in the sense that this note gives off. Seems so short when typed up.

Night

Why is the night so lonely? The sun has gone, and the moonshine is the piercing, bright light that stares at you trying to get some answers out of your sealed lips. The stars are out of focus and billions upon billions of miles away, so too are the alone. That invisible wind too sneaks up on to your cool brazen neck with a chilling ease that sends dark electricity down your nerves. The water is always cold and deep at night. The happy ones are asleep, and the lonely ones awake, to find no one. I try to make the night a positive thing, as in that it has substance, when it really could be the absence of day. Is it night or just no longer day? The cat's whisker shake in that mucky shadow of the orange streetlight. So too are the streets whisked by with the those scratchy red lights of cars, of tired people's going to places they don't want to be, from the places where they don't want to be. Night is a place of temporary, uncomfortable escape. A bleak end to the endless days. A dead end to the circuit. Where words assemble themselves over dried coffee stains among the ghoulish smog precipitating into ash. The smoke is dirty and crisp, tobacco and gasoline mix well with cough syrup and rusty hubcaps. The lovers are all going indoors and the drinkers are going out to smoke and smokers are going out to drink. The fluorescence of the roads allows for endless driving. There is only rain at night.

Mixed-Up Confusion

Those childhood stories of north and south and of good and bad and of right are making me insane. The common man's reality is formed on this basis, and so too is society, but I can't comprehend the truth in this idea. There are infinite variations of gray just as there infinite numbers in between 1 and 2. There is no jump. There is no border. There are no heroes and villians. There is no clean and dirty. There is only the possibility of everything. There is likelihood and probability and statistics. No facts, only chance, maybes, uncertainties, guesses, luck. Is the common man's reality truth? We can only know that it is self-correcting. This is a term I made up to explain certain schemas and realities and facets of understandings that design their own, irrefutable rationales. Sort of how people beleive the bible because it says its true. But more complex in different scenarios. Physics and biology and chemistry and language are all based on assumptions and theories based on facts from the ideologies they come from. It says its true, so it must be. Do mentally challenged people's realities and comprehension skills differ because it is incompatible with the one's created by the average, normal masses? Would mentally challenged people create a generally functional society (a very broad usage here, not in the traditional sense, but more general lifestyle) if say, most people had the same type of what we call autism? Their brain woudl all be wired similarly enough to share common fears, pleasures, etc. just like common man. So from this hypothesis can we presume societies and facts and sciences and language and beauty and comfort and love are all products of the brain and its chemistry? I beleive this is why I have such a hard time in life. My brain, my understandings and mental constructs naturally differ (slightly enough that I can function and socialize and communicate). I have a hard time expressing what I experience possibly due to the incompatibility of language with my mental one. And what is one were to not understand the concept of truth? Not even the concept of falsehoods, but of neither, in a state of ethical and mental chaos? Is my focus diverting from philosophy to psychology? Or merging? What I desire is not certain. Is what I want an understanding of the brain or of reality? Which is real? And what does it mean to be real? These are things a 1-minute old baby can understand, but I cant.

The Guide To Immortality

My biggest fear, or perhaps my greatest focus, is on topics related to the extent and purpose of life of living, of existing. I don't really believe in a true "old, bearded, controls-your-fate" God, and I believe that has caused much of my troubles, my "never-ending rut", if you will. But for some reason, perhaps its the lessening of stress or enhanced rationalization of my beliefs, but I've been beginning to grasp ideas and plans and schemes that can satisfy and fulfill my desires without contradicting my values, ideals, and so forth. These prospects seem so ideal, that I mourn for the days when these seems unfathomable, and long for the days when they seem as close as ever. I've often told myself that happiness and satisfaction is simply caused by self-suppression and suppression of facts and personal values, and I beleive that I am at a point where this may be my fate. I've valued truth for so long that I've come to the conclusion that truth does not exist and merely relative truths inside fabricated and pre-formed worlds, and then the truth of language seems to fade away and I can't understand my own thoughts.