I’m broken on the inside.
The depression that slowly gnawed away at me eventually devoured me.
I hated myself. I resolved to hold on to memories and shouted at myself to come to my senses, but there was no answer.
If there is no way to relieve stifling breath, it’s better to just stop.
I asked who can be responsible for me.
It’s easy to say you’re going to end things.
It’s hard to actually end things.
I lived with that difficulty this whole time.
You told me that I wanted to escape.
That’s right. I wanted to escape.
You asked who is over there. I said it was me. I said it was me again. And I said it was me again.
I asked why I keep forgetting my memories. You told me it was because of my personality. I see. I see that everything is my fault in the end.
I hoped that people would notice but nobody knew. You never met me so of course you would not know I was there.
You asked why I live. Just because. Just because. Everyone just lives just because.
If you ask why people die, they would probably say it’s because they’re exhausted.
I suffered and agonized about it. I never learned how to turn this pain into happiness.
I tried to push myself past it.
Why? Why am I keeping myself from putting an end to it all?
I was told to search for the reason why it hurts.
I know all too well. I’m hurting because of me. It’s all my fault, because I was born this way.
Doctor, is this what you wanted to hear?
No. I didn’t do anything wrong.
When you told me in that calm voice that it’s because of my personality, I thought how easy it must be to be a doctor.
It’s almost fascinating, that it hurts this much. People that have it harder than me seem to get along just fine. People weaker than me get along just fine. But that must not be true. Among the people in this world, no one has it harder than me, and no one is weaker than me.
But I still tried to live.
I asked myself why I had to do so hundreds of times, and it was never for me. It was for you.
I wanted to do something for me.
Please stop telling me things you don’t understand.
You tell me to figure out why I’m having a hard time. I told you several times why. Am I not allowed to be this sad just for those reasons? Does it have to be more specific and dramatic? Do I need to have better reasons?
I already told you. Were you even listening? Things you can overcome don’t remain as scars.
I guess I was not meant to confront the world.
I guess I was not meant to lead a life in the public eye.
That’s why it was hard. Confronting the world, and being in the public eye. Why did I make those decisions. It’s ridiculous.
It’s great that I even made it this far.
What more can I say. Just tell me I did well.
Tell me I did well enough and that I went through a lot.
Even if you can’t smile while sending me off, don’t say it’s my fault.
You really went through a lot.
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