Stop

Sometimes I think I’ve lived too long.

Maybe it’s because I’ve lived everything there is to be lived.

Nothing excites me anymore, nothing makes me feel. Even the sight of my two beautiful children, running in the backyard with their father makes me feel nothing but sheer numbness.

I’m barely 30, and everything drives me insane; the sound of cars driving by, the echoing laughs of children in the park, my husbands voice...

The thought of death now appeases me. It’s the only thing I seem to look forward to, and the one thing I pray for every night as I go to sleep; the hope of never waking up.

The only thing that makes me feel is seeing the life pour out of their eyes, their skin going cold and their last gasping breaths as they beg me to spare them. But why would I? If I’m bound to live in this meanlingless world, and doomed to spend the rest of my days awaiting something that might never come, why not carry on doing the one thing that reminds me what is it to live?

I have become a monster, and I don’t know how to make it stop.