...To Wiki, It's exactly 3 months after I wrote this.
The Last 5 Days Of My Life
I have made a choice. I won't lie and say it was a hard choice, it wasn't. How many years have I been living this? How many hours have I spent planning this? The plans changed, the reasoning changed, the environment changed, I changed. There is nothing I can do about that. I still have 14 years left but who would want to wait so long. I made a choice
I could not get away without mentioning this because I don't want wrong assumption and misunderstandings being made. I am aware that Kurt Cobain, the genius of modern music and icon of surrealistic thinking, died on the 5th of April in 1994. I know that he was 28 years old. I know that it wasn't suicide. My choice has got shit to do with this but I won't lie and say that it's just a coincidence because it isn't. I could do it today and nothing would change except that I wan't to leave something behind, even if it means being just another one of those emos from school I do not care, I'm desperate for recognition.
My life, I guess, was one of many great moments and love and emotion and experiences, I am aware that some people would give anything for a life like this but these people have never seen the labyrinths inside this one life, their darkest nightmares never seen them. Its not like I'm disrespecting the outside, it just means nothing to me. I'm hopeless. this is how I want to thank my mother for everything she gave me, all the love and care I was so spoiled. This is all I can do, the perfect mothers day present. I will free her from the pain she had to suffer for the past weeks, I wan't to make her happy for once. I feel like I never done that before.
I should probably mention my father although he is not of great importance, he helped me realise that I have to do this and that the choice has been made. I am sentenced to death, by his words, he showed me the way.
Sometimes people don't realise what they are. They are made to believe a lie. It tells them of the body and the mind. What a fascinating fairytale. There are many philosophies about what we are and why. I was looking for a philosophy that would explain why words physically hurt me like daggers, why my chest is torn apart and my heart cut into little pieces every time I hear them speak. Why do they care to waste their precious time and electricity to move their mouth and care? Just let me die in terrible pain, in numbing torture, in piece.
What triggered my decision? Well I will tell you a story of 14 years in as little words as possible.
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