| О себе: |
"I'm broken inside. The depression that was slowly eating me up eventually consumed me. And I couldn't beat her. I hated myself. I searched for answers, clutching at my memories, trying to sort out my own confused thoughts, I screamed, I was hysterical, but I couldn't do anything. If I can't help myself to breathe freely, it's better not to breathe at all. I asked myself, who is responsible for my life? Just me. But I'm completely alone. It's so easy to talk about the end, but it's harder to do it. I lived up to this point, only because it was so hard to decide. I told myself I wanted to get away from it all. Yes, I want to run away. From myself. From you. I was wondering, who is there, who and what do I want to run away from? And that was me. Me again. I asked myself why I keep forgetting all the good memories. It's all because of my essence. I understand. In the end, it's all my fault. I so wanted people to notice my condition. But no one, not a single soul, understood. Although, they've never met me, they didn't know me, so it's no wonder they didn't know about my life, who I am, and that there is a me that exists like this. I wondered, why do they all live, why do I live? The answer was simple: they just live. They live because it is customary. And when I thought about it, why do people die? The answer was even simpler. They just get tired.
And if you ask why I died, I'll tell you because I'm tired.
I suffered and kept thinking about it. I never knew how to turn this debilitating pain into joy.
But pain is pain.
They told me not to do it, they tried to make me think better of it, they told me not to screw myself up. Why did they persist in looking for some disease in me? Why all this? Why can't I just end it if I want to? They told me to understand the meaning of my pain. But I know perfectly well. I'm hurting because of myself. It's all my fault, it's all because I'm incomplete, useless. Doctor, that's what you wanted to hear, right?
No, I did everything right.
When the soft voice blamed only my character, I just thought, " how damn easy it is to be a doctor."
It hurts so strangely inside. People who had it harder than me live happily ever after. People who were weaker than me, live happily ever after. I don't know, maybe it's all nonsense. There is not a single living soul that is worse than me, there is no one who is weaker than me.
But I still have to live? I've asked myself a thousand times, why should I? And the answer was, not because I want it, but because you want it. Don't say anything if you can't understand. Do you know why I feel so bad? I told you why. It's so wrong to suffer this pain, but what other reasons do you need? Any special ones? I already told you. Did you listen? What you can overcome will not be able to torment your life.
But no amount of "time can heal" my wound. Because this pain is overwhelming. It seems that my life is not for this world. Apparently, the world shouldn't have known about me.
Everything was complicated. The eternal struggle for recognition, too much interest in my personal life... And why did I choose this path? Funny. The life of a celebrity has never meant anything to me either. And here are all the reasons for my pain. The reason is that I'm famous. I've suffered enough.
It's a wonder I was able to hold out for so long.
What can I say now? Just tell me that I did everything right. That will be enough. Just say, " you worked hard." And if you can't smile now, don't blame me for anything. Say goodbye to me, "you did everything right, you went through a lot."
Forgive." |