Suicidal in Heaven – A Journey of Choices

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As I swear I’ll leave hell at any cost, I continue to walk. My mind is set on it, I have a mission, a reason to go on.

(There’s a part of me that knows I’ll give up ’cause I won’t see any progress, I’ve always been like this, there’s no reason to change. But there’s another part that tries to convince me I’m a new person, and, even that that’s not true right now, I have eternity to try to be.)

I keep walking ignoring the pain and shame of being naked, the pain of feeling what my parents are feeling, the pain of the blame for killing myself and even dread for being in hell. The only thing I can’t ignore is the heat, but I think I’m being repetitive about it. I think I’ve made myself clear about how much I hate that fact. I’ll try and stop focusing on it, I’ll try and stop complaining. But I know it’ll be for nothing, I’m sure it’s easier for me, a sinner, to enter the kingdom of heaven than stop feeling and complaining about the heat.

I wander aimlessly, trying to find a way of escaping that hell. Literally.

As I walk, I’m attacked several times, subjected to all kinds of torture. Pieces of me are torn apart, my arms, legs, fingers, head, scalp, skin and anything that can be pulled off. Other demons get in my head and search my memories, forcing me to remember everything I tried to forget, other tortures are like the techniques we see in movies and books: needles under the fingernails, waterboarding, electrocution. Some demons just point at me and laugh, making me even more ashamed of being naked. Nothing shakes me (with the exception of the heat, but I don’t want to repeat it), and I keep on with my mission.

Dehydration is behind me, my desperate cry for water has left my mind a long time ago (I think), all that’s left in me is the will to leave that place of torture. I keep walking without having any notion if I’m going forward, I could be walking in circles, or even stuck on an invisible treadmill. Everything is identical, even the tortures begin to repeat themselves at some point. Not even the hedgehog scares me anymore, even though it’s always an extremely painful experience.

I got so used to hell that a pretty idiotic question comes to my mind and, since I can’t even remember the sound of my own voice, (with the exception of my screams) I decided to say it out loud. It wouldn’t be just an opportunity for me to remember how I spoke and, somehow, see if all that screaming hadn’t left me voiceless, but it was also an opportunity to break the deadly silence that followed me constantly during my walk towards escaping hell:

Isn’t the devil the father of Rock ’n Roll?

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