Suicidal in Heaven – A Journey of Choices

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I didn’t deserve to live ’cause I didn’t make anything of life, all I did was pretend I lived. I just stayed at home, watching life pass by. I fooled myself, by telling real life wasn’t worth it, that only the lives of fantasy, of books and comic books were interesting. And, although those lives were truly more interesting than real life, they had a disadvantage: they’re just stories.

Nothing I read was real, there were no super-powered aliens to save the day from some megalomaniac millionaire businessman with a messiah complex, no orphan billionaire that faced extremely clever clowns and madmen, no elementals who think they’re people and, unfortunately, no wizards who deceive humans, demons and even angels.

Fantastic reality was always better, that’s why I always preferred it. And that’s why I hadn’t lived. I chose the easiest, the more seductive, the coolest path, I chose lies. Lies that made me alone, made me have nothing but words and images. There’s nothing to remember, nothing that I have done. I never got drunk, never got rebellious in my teenage years, never lost myself to, then, find myself. I just read and imagined, and when not even fiction was able to make me happy, I killed myself.

I should have seen it coming, should have been able to notice that the real responsible for my sadness was myself, I should have asked for help. But I didn’t, I just told myself everything was ok, that there was nothing wrong with my fictional life, that it was better. Of course there was, and I should have told this to somebody. How could I think there was nothing wrong? How could I think that, with everything that happens in the world, nothing would interest me?

I had killed myself, but not only when I had cut my wrists. That was just the last nail in the coffin, the last shovel of dirt upon the casket. The truth is that I was dead before I took my own life, I killed myself little by little, by lying, by deceiving myself, by not living, by denying reality, by faking it, by making the wrong choices. I should have lived one real life, not a million fake ones.

How could I have been so blind?

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