What I hate being dead

Death isn't really interesting.

It isn't flashy. There are no flames to burn or monsters to fight or even relatives to meet.

It isn't loud nor quite; isn't warm nor dark; it isn't hell nor heaven.

To describe death with words is like eating a soup with a knife, it's pointless. You can try as hard as you want, in the end, you still haven't gotten anything from it.

It's easier to describe being dead when you know how it's like being alive.

Life is...interesting.

It's hard, even cruel from time to time. Sometimes it's worse than what you think hell is.

But life wouldn't be life if everything was just hell.

Because life is just that. Hell with a few good moments, a few ups before the crashing downs. A life is more a rollercoaster than anything else. Wich sounds horrible, but honestly? We wouldn't want it any other way.

Wouldn't life be like hell, we wouldn't enjoy it. In other, more poetic words: A life in heaven is a punishment from hell.

But why did you killed yourself when you praise life that high?, you may ask.

Great question.

Hard to answer but I'll try my best, yeah?

You see, my life was kind of like hell. Not in the burning or torturing sense, I was lucky enough to be born white in the USA.

But on the other hand, I was born as a girl in 1951 within a...let's say, a not-so-friendly-family.

My father was many things. A veteran. A puppy-lover. A alcoholic. Youngest of six (he was the only one to survive). A cold man who thought women are just there to serve. He hated winter, because it reminded him of Russia.

My mother was just a few things. She was once more, but it all fated after her marriage. I just know that she was German, but everytime someone asked, she denied it. She was very religious and would be upset when she would've heard that her daughter writes something so unchristian about the afterlife.

I still have a mixed relationship with them. I hate them. I love them. They hated me. They loved me (I hope. But deep in the depth of their hearts, it was maybe even true).

My life was never interesting. Or at least I thought that was before I died.

I was just some girl. Some girl in some small town with some friends and some dreams.

Years later, when I was already dead, I noticed, it wasn't a bad life. Not a good one either. Just a life. A life, that could've evolve into something greater.

But I was selfish. I was dumb. I was just thirteen.

A tip on how to make your life not more miserable than necessary: Don't do drugs.

It's easy, really. And I'm happy that people nowadays a more aware of the dangers of drug abuse than back then. It sounded so sweet and I had no idea what these yellow pills were when I saw them the first time on the playground.

"Just take this, it'll make you happy!", he said. "It's harmless, really."

Well, fuck you too, Raquel.

The world went numb when I bought the yellow pills from Raquel at thirteen. I thought, when I just make more up's, everything would be better.

It just leaded that I had fewer up's.

Still wasn't as bad as being dead, but I didn't knew that yet. I mean, how should I? It's not like I frequently die.

So I just went around, day to day I just went more miserable. I thought about death. Not all the time, of course. But it was always there, in the back of my mind, suggesting it after every fight with my parents or after every time I was sick again.

And now you'll probably gonna ask: But what about you death now? We already want the intressting part!

About my death...I don't want to talk about it. I really don't want to. But there are things I can tell you:

- It was on a Friday, my favorite day of the week

- The weather was beautiful. Blue sky, just two clouds with the shape of crows (Josie said, they looked like snakes to her, but I could see the wings and cars don't have wings)

- I regretted it immediately

And you will too, when you want to...do it. There's nothing good to come after death. There's no hell, no heaven.

You will continue the way you lived. You will be alone, just with your thoughts and nothing to distract.

And the worst? This is what will be for the rest of eternity. The rest of eternity you will spend the same way as I, writing letters in my mind, never being able to write, read, publish them.

So I preach to y'all- no, I beg y'all to don't do it. I also hated life, okay? But it will be better. When you survive now, you have many many stories to tell. You have many many experiences to make. And you want to waste that all...why? Because you didn't anything great yet?

Girl, when you die now, you'll never gonna do anything great. There's plenty of time, you just have live through it and use it to build something great.

There are so many things you never did. There are so many languages to learn, recipes to cook, games to play, worlds to explore, life to evolve.

It's impossible for me to have a body in this endless void, but when I would've have one, I would've cry. Because fuck yes, this shit is unbelievable. It's hard, it's fucked up and I know it's hard and fucked up. Because I was also at this point during my life.

But you have to keep going. You have to keep moving. It's the only way to survive this, to live this. Just move and everything will get better, someday.

After all, a rollercoaster life is better than a standing death.