The Death of Heroes

I am leaving now. I simply cannot go on. Its’ too painful. Every step hurts. With every step I get scared about my future. I am racked with self-doubt and defeat. And yet I am not brave enough or stupid enough to kill myself. I want to leave all my cares behind me and walk away while I am still sane. Leave every vestige of the last world behind me, as if it never existed. I shall take no money, no material possession except the clothes on my back. I shall forget everything that I have learnt, every useful skill that countless others have laboured in vain to instruct me. For I believe that all of this is useless. I need a new identity, a new reason to exist.

I have failed my life. My hopes, aspirations and dreams are dead now. Of what use is a man who cannot dream about a better future? An existence without a purpose or desire to dream about a better tomorrow is pointless. It is better to stop existing.

I go to my death. My body shall survive…. in a way. But my spirit and mind shall never walk again. I shall shed every trace of my life behind me. I shall forget every friend I ever made, every relationship I was ever part of. I shall walk unfettered and unburdened free of every obligation which I ever walked into. No desire or hope is strong enough to stop me or even persuade me to ever change my mind and return.

This may not be a suicide note. But really is there much of a difference. This is the last time I shall ever read or write, the last time I shall attempt to ever lead a normal life. I do not want to be found. I seek anonymity. I even leave my name and identity behind me.

I may be a coward. I may be spineless. I do not care about the memory I leave behind me. I do not seek an elegy. It would be pointless now. The only thing that I know for sure is that I am weary of the struggle. I cannot stand and face everything that comes against me.

Heroes are for children’s fairytales. Life definitely isn’t one.