We at RCHK LEEKS strive for mental well-being. Although excellence takes priority, we would never go as far as to neglect the health of our beloved staff. This is why it was especially concerning when an anonymous submission was delivered to our office. It read of the most horrible, most jaded events that one could experience in life.
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Please send help.
It’s this again. The same-old routine that I wake up to everyday. Morning after morning, night after night, it’s all the same. My world has been drained of colour. There’s no spice, no flavour. It’s so minty and cold here. Why has my life evolved to be like this? Where had I gone wrong? There’s nothing left, nothing but one. They’ve all fallen, pushed away in the spur of the moment. I live and bathe in regret. I breathe with sorrow. That is what I am now.
Every morning and night at my very worst I would feel myself. I would feel myself like no one else has ever felt me. I forced it deep inside, so deep that every crevice became tainted by the pure white. So cold. The juxtaposition was too strong for someone like me to handle. But why? Why did I feel the need to continue? Everyday it is only the sense of duty that compels me. It pushes me forward.
I reek.
I reek of pessimism and distress as my self-pity gnaws away at my self esteem. My friend called it poverty. They are no longer my friend. The lack of care would imply this, I wouldn’t blame them. It threatens to leave me. Tickling away at my gums, it moves listlessly as every shock propels the inevitable. I would think it to be the beginning of the end, but I know it is the end of the end.
It is over for me. The mornings are the worst of it. I awake with nothing more than my dishevelled beard and underwear. I hobble away to feel myself once more. The stench. The stench is so strong. I feel it permeating out of the toilet. Out of the kitchen. Out of my four-hundred square meter apartment I pay a price much too high for. The smell of capitalism? No. It is the smell of my demise. This overarching issue has led to my downfall. It is not an addiction, but is something I cannot recover from. It is something that has shattered me, from the inside to the out.
I am a broken man.
Breakfast comes and goes. Scrambled eggs with onions to combat the inner demons. My mother had left me long ago. There was nothing left behind. They all left, one by one. It happened around the same time, until there was only one. It is my fault. I know it is. If only I had done better, taken care of it better. I wish I had done better. But there’s nothing left for me. Nothing but one.
Lunch lingers for a while longer. I visited my father, bedridden in the hospital. It is the same, much like every other day. The mundane routine has stripped me from life. I am existing, not living. I cannot work to live nor live to work as I am unemployed. There is nothing to consume me but myself. It’s so dark. It’s so dark in this blue hospital room. They are all dressed in gowns and frowns that do not waver for a second as I shuffle along the line of residents. I await my time.
Dinner is fleeting. There is nothing left. I realise today that it may be better to let go. There truly is nothing left. I conjoin with my darkest desires as it finally happens. I aim for a sweet release. I struggle and struggle as I chase after something that was there before nothing. It is only then I realise, it truly was too late. Hindsight is twenty twenty, and I may be twenty years too late. There is no more for me.
As I stare into the empty mirror, there is someone who stares back. They are not me, but a toothless man.
A man without teeth, a man who has lost it all.
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We have come to the end of the letter we received. May this short article shed light upon the declining welfare and happiness of students across the globe. May this show the world the importance of taking care of oneself. May god help this poor man and save his soul.
Amen.
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