Case Of Patient's Mental Health: Suicide Or Murder

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I never knew how, or when, or why it started, it just started. This never-ending conflict of me, only me, and this was my lunacy. This was how multiple lacerations came to me, or how my skin thirsted for my blood, or how high the skyscrapers were, or how the food tastes blander, or how many pill bottles became my eye-opener, or how the ropes hugged me tight. Every night, I cannot sleep. You told me to count in some sheep, but the only thing I can count is the ways I can erase my existence in this world. You told me to walk before I sleep, but my stuttering knees will tell you how I tumble to the scratches and the scars. I always miss my lodestars. You told me to have my midnight snack but my stomach will tell you how the acid was eating me inside. I never told you how painful my hearthside. You told me to count the stars, but my eyes will tell you how the twinkle entranced me to jump, praying that I’ll be transported to Neverland tonight.

When I cover my ears, I hear my phantasms whisper to me of how undeserving I am. It was my lunacy of how I heard a never-ending soliloquy of the world could be better if I never had the chance to step in the world. I tried to explain what this darkness in me was, yet the deeper I ventured into the obscurity; I became deeply connected to the safety, to the paranoia that came to me. I am only a body without a soul. I have been just dust on the asphalt, a person of inertia, a person of the unchangeable truth. I just wanted to be loved even out of my upbringings. I just wanted to be seen as a person of my own wishing. Yet, the world was cruel upon my feet. I am a shattered, destroyed, I am just a fragmented glass cannon. I detested on the world’s stereotypical treason. I treated my body with the cutters and blades to bleed on, squeezed out myself until no me comes out of me, shotgunned pill bottles to ease up the cure. You asked me if I was tired, but I never had the courage to say to the people that gave me life that I do not want it anymore. I tried to explain that this darkness was a shapeshifter. Like on someday, it is as small as a cat claws, but sometimes it is a lion. You told me to reach out for the light, but I only get deeper down the rabbit hole. I hoped that my hands could have reached for the tincture, the windowsill, the pizza slice, or another human; but I always get the tendrils of this forever dwindling radiance. You told me to light up a candle, but when I smell the beeswax, I can only remember the flesh of a church, of how the lights were nearing my coffin tonight. I finally had the courage.

Now… I’m the star of the night. Flowers barricaded my castles as I rest upon the red ornaments. I wore my best suit and filled my kingdom with assailing armaments. They were vigilant and readied to shoot, yet their bullets ricocheted to their boots. Still, I loved how my formal wear covered the lacerations on my wrist or how the cosmetics covered the bubbles in my mouth. I was standing on our patio on a cold September night. The slightly foggy view accented the white bed, I was lying on, contemplating of how I can forgive myself for the things that I did not do. All I can hear was screams of glory and praise, of how they should have understood me more, or how they could have become my crying shoulder, or how they could have been the parents that I could have coped up with. I know you’ll give me your long, sappy message of how I was a good man to you. The best I can do is to shout to everyone of how a hypocrite they are. My medical report told them it was asphyxiation, but the only thing I could tell you, there’s no such thing as suicide. There’s only murder.

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