Prologue

Suicide. I was still ten years old when the “foolish” desire first appeared in my mind. Nevertheless, my life didn’t come to an immediate halt at that very moment.

I continued living into the following days, weeks, months, and even several years later. I still breathing normally. At least physically, I was doing fine until the day I’m writing this.

Someone once asked me, “You always seem calm, aren’t you afraid of anything?” At that moment, I didn’t respond at all, but deep inside, I laughed at the absurd question.

I am a normal human being. Of course, there are many things I fear, such as falling from heights, being stabbed with a knife, robbers, snakes, crocodiles, or similar wild animals.

I fear everything that puts my life at risk, just like most people. However, among the long list of things I’m afraid of, there’s one that stands at the top—most terrifying to me—and that is life.

I find this amusing. I’m afraid of everything that can lead to death, yet the thing I find most terrifying is to keep alive. Do I sound like a foolish man? But that’s how it is.

In my eyes, staying alive and carrying on with life seems incredibly daunting. Everything that happens to me and around me fuels that thought. That death is the best way out of all problems.

Can I just put an end to this frightening existence?

No. I’m a coward.

Every time my hands grip a knife, a rope, or poison—every time I prepare to die—my body trembles with fear. What if I end up regretting this? I stare intently at the blade’s edge against my skin. On second thought, why do I want to end my life?

It’s frustrating every time my suicide attempts reach this point. I don’t have a compelling reason to die, yet I can’t bring myself to take my own life. What’s the significance of having a reason?

As I mature, other trivial matters start to plague my mind. I begin to worry about how others would perceive my body if they were to find it after I die by suicide.

Would they feel repulsed and leave me to rot without a proper burial? Would they curse my corpse as an omen of ill fate? How many would condemn my burial or even spit when passing my grave?

It must not be that way. At the very least, they should allow my body to return to the earth. Hence, I am writing this note. I hope that anyone reading this will be moved. At the very least, you should be willing to dig a grave for my final rest.

The next page you’ll read contains my reasons for suicide. Even though I still don’t know those reasons as I write this, I hope you won’t belittle them, whatever they may be.

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18+ CONTENT WARNING!

Almost every part contains traumatic scenes, domestic violence, abuse, symptoms of depression, and thoughts as well as statements about suicide—possibility of them being misconstrued as encouragement.

It is not recommended for those who are underage, mentally unstable, suffering from major depression, and individuals who only know how to insult and belittle those with depression.

Reader discretion is highly advised. If you hold different thoughts or opinions, please express them in a respectful and non-derogatory manner.

Greetings from RieeHime. May you persevere until the very end of your lives! Happy Reading!

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