I’m sat on some rocks on the Isle of Wight. It’s beautiful. The water’s calm, I can see the boats on the solent. I can’t think of a better place.
This is to be my final blog post. I’m done, I’m broken. Hearing the shouts about how I ruin people’s days by being there, how I’m a scrounger, how I’m absolutely no good has broken the fragile shell I was holding around me. It’s half past nine in the morning and I’m done.
The plus about my past suicide attempts is that I know how much my body can take so I know how to go past that. Well, there’s no can, I already have; whilst my sister was shouting at my parents about how I ruin her life and how they were telling her to be quieter for the neighbours… but not disagreeing. I walked out to the beach and around the headland to where I was planning on surprising a friend of mine by photographing his cruise ship as it docked in Portsmouth (he sailed to Southampton though).
I’m now just sat thinking – thinking about my friends I won’t see, the degree I won’t complete, the instruments I won’t play again. It’s nothing specific strangely. Almost like my mind is trying to convince me as well as everyone else that this is the best way to go. Quiet, no regrets.
Part of me is scared though, naturally. If it doesn’t work I’m just going to complete this vicious cycle again and again and again. There’s nothing to keep me going through it anymore. My mind cannot find a single reason. This is usually the point where my brain latches onto something and I start crying my eyes out, but it’s not happening. I’m empty and… peaceful.
So this is me, signing off. Ok, I’m crying now but I think that’s just at the support and comments and friendliness I’ve had hear. Strangers, people who I’ve never met.
I’m sorry to anyone I’ve let down. I’m sorry I didn’t make it magically better. I’m all out of magic.
I’m all out of life.
- Arrhythmogenic Right Ventricular Cardiomyopathy.