I was surfing the net and found some old writings of mine.
This was a letter I wrote in 1994 when I was 21 years old. It would have been the year before I graduated from university.
I remember the intensity of the way I felt at that time. I remember how I was simply holding onto the end of my rope, barely making it from one day to the next. I still can't believe I did no greater harm to myself. And that I am reading this letter all over again today.
"Dear Friend, It is said that into every life, some rain must fall. But it has been a storm ravaged land around where I live for as long as I can recall. And what else can I do, but pray everyday to some higher Being for strength and courage to face the ugliness which I can only see in this world, for some sort of shelter where the claws of dampness and the wind and hail would not find me.
I have tried to find comfort within the shell of a human being that I am. I found emptiness, starkness and an abyss so deep I dare not venture into for fear of losing my own sanity. Yet, at times of bleakness and desolation, I have sought refuge between the caverns of my soul and have gratefully allowed myself to sink into its merciful darkness and let it wrap around my entire being. It is those times that my soul burns with a fevered rage of pain and anguish, when all my shamefulness is exposed and I am reduced to the wretched being that I am.
I used to be able to play my flute hours on end, and lose myself in my passion for music, or go to a movie where I play the parts of those make believe characters and live in a world which makes so much more sense to me. Perhaps I've overdone the two activities I love so much. These days, they only drive me further into the realm of isolation and into this abyss of hell. I would refuse to return to what you would claim to be the 'real' world. There would be too many conflicts within conflicts, too many responsibilities I am incapable of coping, and that's when I dream of removing myself permanently from this so-called 'real' world.
Last night, I was haunted relentlessly by images of death and decay, by my remorse and uncertainty. All I wanted to do was to get rid of that pain. I can't even remember when it was the last time I got any sleep. And to finally come upon this decision, half drowned in a world of chaos and confusion. Nothing else matters. I just want to end this pain. That's all. Can you blame me? God, I'm too young to die, yet too old to live the life of a 21 year old! You know, you've been right all along, and it's taken me this long to understand that only those with courage will struggle to survive. Maybe I had courage once, but I've failed miserably. I have lost the sense of a fighter. Lost the essence of being alive. I have grown past the innocence of childhood, past the freedom of youth and have become an untimely adult.
Should I worry about what is to come when I leave this world? I've tried to imagine it. Sometimes, it crushes me with nightmares and instill within me the fear of that terrible deep unknown. Yet, at other times, I find a relief and a calm so tempting that it destroys my will to be alive.
I have refused your arguments and persuasions that life still possess that beauty, that wonder which compels us all to struggle on. I have conveyed to you my conviction that there is nothing else I could love, and no way out of this misery. Yet, over the past months, in some kind of desperation, I searched harder for the answers more than I ever did in my life. And still, I couldn't keep my balance on rationality. My mind only distorted whatever good I witnessed in my life, and I could only think of the elimination of my soul. Even through all the doubts, I could only listen to that voice crying in the darkness of my heart.