Thing is, I have all the reasons to die, and not one to live on. Every morning I wake up trying to find even the smallest reason to get out of the bed, and in the end I get up just because. For there are no reasons at all.
We’re in crippling debt. We’re facing losing the apartment and becoming homeless. We’ve no one to rely on, and being just a family of strangers – we’ve no hope of help from anyone either. So life is ending anyway.
I’m overworked, with ridiculous work-related traumas that I managed to get at home. I’m stressed, anxious, having one panic attack after another. Sleep is a distant concept of something you do because you can’t go on, a thief of the little time that you have left.
Life’s not fair. It’s not beautiful. It’s gruesome, and some of us don’t wish to go on. And you know? I’ve a right to leave.