Status: completed
Goodnight
x
I would expect a suicide note to be heartfelt and dramatic. Not this one though - wouldn't be very much in keeping with me, would it? Nothing of that much importance ever happened to me. I’m not special, I’m not needed. There’s no calling for me. I don’t have a special mission in life to live for. No one to love or to care about.
I think someone may have forgotten to fit me with a heart. Ruth Winters – the Tin Woman without a heart. I should have gone to see the Wizard about it. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. He could have given me one. Maybe other things as well. Maybe he could have taken me away from this mess of my life instead of making me do it instead. He could have written a note for me to excuse everything I’ve done – my mere existence. Planned an unattended funeral. Laid non-existent flowers on my unkempt tombstone.
I can't even think of anything worth writing. A pointless note, much like my life. I never did any good to anyone. If I did, people might have cared more. Who’s going to read this anyway?
I am summed up by three piece of paper: a birthday card from a father who never loved me; a Christmas card from a man who I foolishly thought did; and a visiting order from my brother - my family have to order me to visit them, and still I don't. Like they ever cared about me. I can’t remember one happy memory from each of those people. Or maybe I just blocked them out. All I want to remember are the bad times. Maybe they make all my actions seem more justified. Why I did what I did. Perhaps soon I can add a fourth note to that list: this one.
What a hate-filled person I am. Never loved, never loving. Who would care to love someone like me anyway? I never felt sympathy, not really. I never wished I could change places with someone, to take away their pain and instead feel it flow through my blocked, clogged veins. I might have made more of an effort with them then, rather than just thinking about my own self all the time.
It's not much of a legacy, is it? Maybe I can go down in history as author of the dullest suicide note ever. Then again, who’s going to read it? It might be days before they find me, weeks, months, years, I’ll be waiting for them. I wonder who will find me? Probably the cleaner on her every-so-often-round. Someone who doesn’t even know my name, so I’ll remain an anonymous object, a life-size doll neglected by some child with more interesting toys to play with.
I tried to be a good doctor - really I did. But it was too hard. It beat me, and I'm so ashamed. I never wanted anything else out of life. So there is no life. I thought it was the only way I could attempt to prove to myself that somewhere inside me there might have been something that could actually be used to help other people. But no, it was still all about myself all the time. Just wanting to get up higher and higher, climb the ladder, get to the podium, reach the summit. The people I was treating, they were nothing. They were still stuck on the lowest rung.
I am so sorry to the patients I caused suffering - to their families, my sincerest apologies. I don’t deserve to be here still. I’m doing this for you, for everyone, so that I can do one good thing in my life and make the world a better place by removing myself from it. It’s the least you deserve.
I don't belong here. Goodnight. Lights out.
I think someone may have forgotten to fit me with a heart. Ruth Winters – the Tin Woman without a heart. I should have gone to see the Wizard about it. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. He could have given me one. Maybe other things as well. Maybe he could have taken me away from this mess of my life instead of making me do it instead. He could have written a note for me to excuse everything I’ve done – my mere existence. Planned an unattended funeral. Laid non-existent flowers on my unkempt tombstone.
I can't even think of anything worth writing. A pointless note, much like my life. I never did any good to anyone. If I did, people might have cared more. Who’s going to read this anyway?
I am summed up by three piece of paper: a birthday card from a father who never loved me; a Christmas card from a man who I foolishly thought did; and a visiting order from my brother - my family have to order me to visit them, and still I don't. Like they ever cared about me. I can’t remember one happy memory from each of those people. Or maybe I just blocked them out. All I want to remember are the bad times. Maybe they make all my actions seem more justified. Why I did what I did. Perhaps soon I can add a fourth note to that list: this one.
What a hate-filled person I am. Never loved, never loving. Who would care to love someone like me anyway? I never felt sympathy, not really. I never wished I could change places with someone, to take away their pain and instead feel it flow through my blocked, clogged veins. I might have made more of an effort with them then, rather than just thinking about my own self all the time.
It's not much of a legacy, is it? Maybe I can go down in history as author of the dullest suicide note ever. Then again, who’s going to read it? It might be days before they find me, weeks, months, years, I’ll be waiting for them. I wonder who will find me? Probably the cleaner on her every-so-often-round. Someone who doesn’t even know my name, so I’ll remain an anonymous object, a life-size doll neglected by some child with more interesting toys to play with.
I tried to be a good doctor - really I did. But it was too hard. It beat me, and I'm so ashamed. I never wanted anything else out of life. So there is no life. I thought it was the only way I could attempt to prove to myself that somewhere inside me there might have been something that could actually be used to help other people. But no, it was still all about myself all the time. Just wanting to get up higher and higher, climb the ladder, get to the podium, reach the summit. The people I was treating, they were nothing. They were still stuck on the lowest rung.
I am so sorry to the patients I caused suffering - to their families, my sincerest apologies. I don’t deserve to be here still. I’m doing this for you, for everyone, so that I can do one good thing in my life and make the world a better place by removing myself from it. It’s the least you deserve.
I don't belong here. Goodnight. Lights out.