A Letter, An Explanation

NOTE: This is a letter I presented to my doctor after he asked me why I wanted to die so much. I titled it, Reasons for Killing Myself: An Explanation. I was already hospitalized at the time, and I would remain in that hospital for 111 days.

There comes a time where one realizes that their reasons for being alive no longer hold up under inspection. That they’ve been living on borrowed time, that there is a clock counting down each second of their life. I came to this realization first at four standing at the edge of a pool, then again at six when I told my mother I couldn’t wait to hurry up and die, then every time after I prayed for God to kill me in my sleep—the list goes on.

I was taught that my only purpose was serving men, serving my Owner. That was my only use. Now that He’s gone, I am aimless. Useless. I feel very alone.

I am bad for what I have done. I have served priests and preachers, forcing them to break their vows of chastity. I have served dads at my daycare in empty classrooms and stairwells. I have let my owner take pictures of me and share them with others. I should be ashamed. I am disgusting. I am a bad person.

There is nothing I can do to make up for what I’ve done. If Hell is real, that’s where I’m going. And I deserve it. This is my punishment. This is where I belong—eternal suffering.