Suicide Note #7

Everything just got fucked up. I became angry but never had the time to focus on anger. I began hating myself, but never sat down and considered the Self. Every time I asked for space, for some breathing room, to understand myself in relation to everything else, my parents took the active step of making those decisions for me. When I said no, that I didn't wish to fall under such jurisdiction, that I want to breath life and understand for myself, they sat me down and told me I was rude, that I was childish. Every time I said I didn't know, that I was still trying to understand, that maybe the solutions aren't solutions at all, that maybe truth only claims itself to be so but suffices to offer nothing other than its own naked hypocrisy under forced circumstances, I was told I was a fool, that I was immature, that I was inactive. When I asked for the impossible, when I offered openly to exhibit my vulnerability, I was shunned, I was alienated, I was forced to consider my own stupidity. I am so angry but I don't even know why anymore. All I wanted was space, was time, for failure is not failure for me. I never imagined such simplistic categories dictating my behavior, I never imagined myself criticizing myself for not excelling, for not being a someone. I only want to live, I want to create, I want to exercise and extend myself for all that it offers. I never did anything wrong because I never claimed to do anything right, but I was never important. Everyone, including my parents, casually took it upon themselves to correct me, to uncover my follies, to play the collective game. It will come of no surprise, I imagine, to assume that these same people will come and pray at my burial, to raise praise of my character and be agitated by my early departure. Again, they will have intervened and created a spectacle, against my innocence; but this time, they will not have me entrapped, for I will fly, I will fly away free.