It’s frustrating, to have so much to say but to not be able to say it accurately.
But let me try.
I don’t anymore think it would be unfortunate to die.
I know my birthday is coming up soon, but am I 23 or am I becoming 23?
Either way, I think I have lived for too long. I wish I died when I was 18, when I was hateful and angry towards everyone but myself.
I remember my 18th birthday. At midnight, the early moments of being 18, I was chatting online with a female friend. She told me I would remember her whenever I thought of my 18th birthday. Well, it’s funny that I only thought of my 18th birthday when I’m about to become 24 (or 23) years old.
I partially agree that you become wiser as you age. I say that as I acknowledge that my 18 years old tried his best. With all the hate I have towards my life, I still admit that my 18 years old self really tried his best. Which leads me to the painful realization: It couldn’t really have been otherwise. When I look in the mirror, I don’t hate what I did, I hate what I am.
It must be difficult to hear for my 18 years old self, but I wish I was someone else, someone who could have been otherwise. I still mourn every loss my 18 year old self had, but in addition I mourn the losses between then and now.
Could I be considered a terminally injured soldier on the battlefield, asking: please let it end?