July 2, 2012
I don't see the point of it. Any of it. Everyday it's the same damn thing:
Wake up.
Go to work.
Get shit done at work.
Come home.
Eat.
Watch the television.
Go to bed. Alone.
Every single fucking day. It's just pointless. All of it.
I'm done.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just want it to be over with. I just want it all to stop. The pain. The constant pain... I can't take it anymore. I hurt all the time. Every single aspect of me hurts. I can't go a day without some kind of pain. If I'm not hurting physically, I am dying emotionally. I can't take it. It's killing me slowly.
What have I become? What kind of life have I had? Do I have anyone that will miss me if I'm gone? The questions run through my head every single fucking day. It's tiring. It's a weight I can't get rid of. It's crushing my chest day in and day out. Nothing helps. I just can't. I can't do it anymore.
I'm sorry. I just can't. I'm sorry. Don't blame yourself. It's my fault. All of it. You are perfect just the way you are. I'm the sin. Not you.
I'm sorry...
After she wrote the letter, Mariah sealed the envelope and set it on the corner of her desk. This was the perfect time to do it. She was by herself, alone... no one was around. The campus had cleared out and there wasn't a single soul around to hear the gunshot. After all, why shouldn't she? She had no life, no future, no one to miss her if she was gone.
Completely and utterly alone.
Fuck it, Mariah said to herself as she picked up the handgun. It took quite a bit of effort to sneak this gun into her dorm. Might as well follow through with it.
All that Mariah could think was how pointless life was. How pointless everything was. Sure, she was a fantastic student at Stanford. One of her professors even told her that Mariah would be the best nurse in the country if she kept to it. And, of course, the heart and gut wrenching depression would go away. Eventually.
But, why? Why continue? There's no point. More importantly, Mariah didn't want to go on. She wanted to meet the oblivion that she would meet. The complete and total nothingness.
On the count of three...
She tightened her hand around the gun and started to slowly raise it. Her breathing quickened, heart beat skipped. This was it. This was it. The end of it all. The end of the suffering. The end of her existence.
One...
Placing her finger on the trigger, Mariah closed her eyes. She imagined how nice it would be to feel nothing. How nice it would be to be no more. To experience life nevermore.
Two...
It was at her temple now. The object that was going to grant her life nevermore was brushing sweet kisses across her head. It was comforting, in an odd sort of way. Almost like this object was the only thing that understood. Almost like it was saying, "Don't worry. I understand. I know what you are feeling. I'll be here with you. You will be okay."
This made her smile. For the first time in decades, Mariah felt happiness. She felt peace. The tears stopped flowing and Mariah knew that this was the right decision. This was right.
Three.
The gunshot screamed across campus. Everyone that was around heard it and everyone screamed. No one knew what was going on, but there were a few that knew one thing: A single shot never means anything good. And, this was as far from good as you could get.
Mariah Gwyneth Murrey
December 14, 1988 – July 2, 2012
Even though you are gone, you will never be forgotten
Psalms 27:4