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L'absent
À ma manière 🪦
- Aug 18, 2024
- 1,375
Well, here we are. I'm leaving, you're staying. Not surprising—someone has to stick around to pay the bills and pretend life makes sense.
I can already picture your faces—some of you shocked, some crying, some already wondering, "Who's paying for the funeral?" Don't worry, I left a hole in my bank account so deep even an accountant would cry.
People say suicide is an act of weakness.
You know what's really weak?
Waking up every morning to go to a shitty job, sitting in traffic, pretending to enjoy the company of people you despise, posting "life is beautiful" on social media while crying in the bathroom. Now that's pathetic. At least I had the guts to pull the plug before the game made me pay for more useless DLC levels.
"But you could have asked for help!" Oh sure, because we all know that depression is cured by dumbass advice like "Go outside!", "Think positive!", or the classic "Someone has it worse than you!". Brilliant! By that logic, even cancer patients should be thrilled, because hey, at least some guy out there has two tumors instead of one, right?
And then there's always that genius who will say, "But they seemed so normal!"—of course I did, because society trains you to fake it. You must smile, be functional like a damn home appliance. God forbid anyone notices you're rotting inside.
Speaking of rotting: I want to be cremated, and my ashes spread inside a McDonald's, so for once I can be part of a meal someone actually enjoys. Or dump me in front of the Social Security office—might as well rest in the same place where people's dreams go to die.
To wrap things up, for those now pretending to be devastated by my departure:
If you didn't give a shit about me before I died, don't start now.
If you dare say I was a wonderful person, at least do it without laughing.
If you use my death to get attention on social media, at least write it in proper English.
And to those still alive, I wish you a long life… just so you can suffer as long as possible.
Best regards from the eternal void,
The now-nonexistent me.
I can already picture your faces—some of you shocked, some crying, some already wondering, "Who's paying for the funeral?" Don't worry, I left a hole in my bank account so deep even an accountant would cry.
People say suicide is an act of weakness.
You know what's really weak?
Waking up every morning to go to a shitty job, sitting in traffic, pretending to enjoy the company of people you despise, posting "life is beautiful" on social media while crying in the bathroom. Now that's pathetic. At least I had the guts to pull the plug before the game made me pay for more useless DLC levels.
"But you could have asked for help!" Oh sure, because we all know that depression is cured by dumbass advice like "Go outside!", "Think positive!", or the classic "Someone has it worse than you!". Brilliant! By that logic, even cancer patients should be thrilled, because hey, at least some guy out there has two tumors instead of one, right?
And then there's always that genius who will say, "But they seemed so normal!"—of course I did, because society trains you to fake it. You must smile, be functional like a damn home appliance. God forbid anyone notices you're rotting inside.
Speaking of rotting: I want to be cremated, and my ashes spread inside a McDonald's, so for once I can be part of a meal someone actually enjoys. Or dump me in front of the Social Security office—might as well rest in the same place where people's dreams go to die.
To wrap things up, for those now pretending to be devastated by my departure:
If you didn't give a shit about me before I died, don't start now.
If you dare say I was a wonderful person, at least do it without laughing.
If you use my death to get attention on social media, at least write it in proper English.
And to those still alive, I wish you a long life… just so you can suffer as long as possible.
Best regards from the eternal void,
The now-nonexistent me.