Life Essay

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The heat of the room stung my skin; I felt it. Perspiration trickled down from every inch of my body while I lay down there on the creaky wooden floor of our house. As I looked up the ceiling, the light illuminating the room blinded me. The tears streaming down my face were hurting my eyes too. I was exhausted. I didn’t want to stand up. I refused to. I was too hurt; too sick; too bruised up from all that happened. I blamed this thing, whatever you want to call it. It’s a noun; a noun I found so despicable. I blamed that Old English term that described this stated before you die, to what was happening to me. No, it’s not a coma. I hated it. I wanted to end it. This word that according to, is the essence of manifestation and foundation of being; it’s the essence of God; the worthwhile existence; the general condition of human existence. That is, if you want to look at it in a philosophical perspective. I hated life. That was before though. How utterly absurd I was for actually thinking how ugly life was. I sat in the corner of my room, while I hugged my knees tightly against my chest. The blade was just right inside my drawer. Inside my head I counted the steps between where I was and that drawer. It would only take me a few and I would finally feel that sense of relief in the form of that cutter against my wrist. I was suicidal, then. When my mind was too stressed out, I thought it would be better if I just sleep and never wake up again. But something like this should not be wasted. Trying to kill yourself when you really don’t want to die isn’t funny business. I shouldn’t be playing around with my life; placing my life in that dangerous position. I shouldn’t be taking it too lightly. But I did. The thing was I forgot the fact that life was not supposed to be all smiles. It’s not about getting all the cotton candy in the world. Life is not just the

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