Point Of No Return
I am dead. Now that I am dead people know my name. But they will only know my name for a short while, until something bad happens and then I’m yesterdays news. I don’t want to be remembered, especially when they will only associate me with how I died rather than
how I lived. Nobody knew my daily struggles; nobody knew how much pain I was feeling.
I guess even you, reading this are wondering…How did I die? I bet you are anticipating the gory tragic headlines that were plastered on the local newspapers.
Would my death impact you more if you knew my age? I guess the older I am the more irrelevant I will become. I guess if I was old then people would feel more empathetic. Your mind will trick you into thinking that I lived a full life. If I told you that I was very young then my death may make your stomach churn, it may even cause you to shed a tear. My death
will affect your limbic system and cause a physical outburst of emotion.
Would my death mean more to you if you knew my gender? Would I relate to you more if you knew? Why do you need to know? Why do you care? Does my race matter? Would I just be another statistic if told you who I am? If you did know, you could categorise me and put me in a report and maybe, just maybe, someone could make a foundation and name it
after me. Would that make you feel good? Would that make you feel like you are making a change?
Answering your questions will never bring me back. What I will tell you is, that I am angry. I am angry at you. You did not protect me. You heard me calling your name and you did not come. You did not save me. You allowed someone else to violate me. You knew how much I did not like people and yet you left me with strangers. How could you?
I would grimace and cry my loudest cry and you did nothing! I loved you, you were all I knew. I did not trust anybody but you and you let me down in the worse way possible. I want you to read this and know that you will have to live with what you did.
You had me and now you are alone. I am dead.
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