They died while they were alive.

Oh my God! Oh my Lord,

I cry constantly:

spare my loved ones,

and you can destroy me.

They died while they were alive;

I see no point in being.

Others want to live ,

so let them be.

I will die only in the flesh,

I will depart secretly.

Only my

memories will remain, futile.

I always wake up with images of lost people who meant more to me than an ordinary person could imagine.

I have already lost many loved ones, but I will have to lose even more; this thought terrifies me.

I will have to witness loved ones depart this world.

I have experienced many deaths throughout my life, and I fear further deaths. When I lose someone I cared about, I lose a part of myself.

I have come to the conclusion that life is unfair and fragile, that one second is enough for a person who was among the living to change matter and their place.

The deaths of my twelve-year-old friend from elementary school and my nineteen-year-old brother demonstrated how ruthless life can be.

Death didn't kill me, but the cruel world did. I entered life full of hope for a better tomorrow, born good, without any internal blemishes.

As I learned more about life, I distanced myself from the world, and it seemed to me that the only person I could trust in these times was myself.

There's a lot of hypocrisy, addiction, and hatred; love, kind words, and warmth for loved ones are rare.

Along the way, I've encountered many unpleasant situations that have forever changed my worldview.

I love life, even if it's not always as pleasant as we'd like, but I don't want to lose my life, I don't want to leave. I want to create forever for humanity, I want to write, and I want to raise awareness among the weak through my experience.

People without help are weak and vulnerable to the evil that has surely befallen each of us.

Because of the fear of death, I think a lot about the end of my days, my story, my struggle on earth.

I'm certain my death will be different from any other; the way I departed from this world was original and tragic.

Suicide, a cowardly way to leave the world of the living, but a sign that the human soul has grown tired of life faster than the body.

Blood, tears, and grief, and questions about how it all happened, my loved ones ponder the problems that destroyed me internally.

"He always behaved normally, his love for life was evident on his face, always smiling. It's impossible that this happened."

Yet, I hid the pain that was growing within me day by day, destroying me, more and more ruthlessly. I began to isolate myself from the world so it wouldn't destroy me completely, but it's impossible to hide from my destiny.

I'm sorry that I hurt my loved ones with my internal and physical death. It's better to leave sooner than later, better to leave fewer traces of me and fewer memories than to let go of the thought that I'm gone for longer and harder.

Is eighteen years old enough for suicide? Is this the right age to end suffering? Or to end internal death and enter the final plane of eternal rest.

I have many reasons to stay with you, but I have no fewer reasons to leave.