Everyone will judge me, everyone will say I was selfish and didn’t think of them. Everyone will accuse me of ruining their lives, and I know it will ruin their lives. I know how much they love me, and the truth is that it was the only fact that made me extend my stay in the world of the living. I postponed my suicide for five years just because of them. They were the only reason I stayed alive.
Five years delaying the only solution I could see to end my suffering, all because the love I feel for my parents. I wasn’t selfish, I just couldn’t take it anymore. The situation became unbearable, the feeling of wanting to end everything surpassed the love. And when I realized love wasn’t stronger than the rest, that it isn’t capable of withstanding everything, I did what I did.
I wished love would’ve won, not because I’d still be alive, but because I wouldn’t have been in such a bad place for so long. I would have felt something positive for someone, and maybe someone would’ve felt the same for me. Not only my parents. But the truth is that love isn’t all people say it is. It is insufficient. At least, it was for me.
So, no, I hadn’t been selfish. I might have been weak, but not selfish. And I don’t even think I was weak, since I fought for at least a decade. A decade trying to find joy, trying to find some reason not to end my life. I tried, I swear I did. But I couldn’t find anything, at least, nothing that would serve as an everlasting motive. The feeling that endured the most was the love for my parents, but it wasn’t strong enough.
I get up, no longer wet. Water from the world of the living can’t make a dead man wet, I’ve just found that out. Before, I was wet because I was between life and death, because I hadn’t accepted my new situation. But now I know what I am, where I am, and the environment can’t affect me anymore. At least, that’s what I hope for.
The noises on the door make me get up. It’s my mother, she’s asking what’s happening, asking why there’s so much water coming from under the bathroom door. She’ll soon enter the bathroom, the door isn’t locked, because I didn’t want them to spend any money on my account. All the ceremonial expenses, whether I was going to be buried or cremated, would be expensive enough. There was no need to add the cost of a new door. I don’t want to be here when they find me. I try to run away, but I can’t. I suppose I have to wait to see what’ll happen, and I know I’ll suffer. I believe that will be my infernal punishment. And if this is only the beginning, I think I’ll regret what I’ve done.