Dead But Alive—Faking My Own Death

Dead But Alive—Faking My Own Death

I’m really not a mental case, a deranged civilian, a frustrated social worker or a broke sex worker, neither do I in any way qualify to be called a psychopath who got bored with her life and decided to take it. I would appreciate you didn’t judge me right away; I still got a story to tell. I’m not some sort of walking dead or one who has seen death in the flesh and was spared to tell the tale that winter was coming, and with it, the bones of humans that would fall to the ground like snow during winter.

I was fed up with everything that my existence provided at inception, my birth into one of the very few planets that supported human existence was annoyingly strange and unethical. It was a grand infringement on my right of existence, I should have been contacted and permission asked of me. But no, the decision to bring me here was independently made by two people on a particular night, in a room void of lighting and filled with moans from the female of the two strangers; they seemed to be having fun and went on for a long time, I never knew their fun was a sacrifice of their freedom in exchange for my bondage to live.

I cried immediately the doctor pulled me from between the woman’s legs, not as a sign of life but anger that I’ve been forced into a life that I never chose. Isolation came easy to me, and suicidal thoughts were my meditation day and night. I was yet to understand why I should be brought here, what was I to do here? The human race seemed indifferent about how I felt and they obviously couldn’t read minds because they would have known my intentions.

Unfortunately, they lacked the sensitivity to understand that silence to me meant a lot and the message explained in the words “do not disturb” my ever taciturn disposition was another way to say I don’t need your company and I was enough fun myself, I could swear I was wired for the island of isolation and forged in the furnace of independence; I was born to be a loner, a single female mafia.

Dead But Alive—Faking My Own Death

These people were ruthless in character and uncivilized in nature; they always shouted and cursed each other, a display I was never in accord with. There was always war and strife, no peace, no serenity, no love or quiet. This wasn’t a place for me, everything was a mess and nothing made sense, nothing but my quest to disappear from the shores of reality only to disappear beneath the clouds of eternity, residing in the shadows, never to resurface again.

It really does require a strong sense of your own capability, to think you can fake your death and get away with it, trust me I’ve tried and all of the times, I wasn’t dead enough in my conscience or crazy enough to take the necessary precautions and then follow through with the plan till completion. Total elimination of oneself from the bondage of consciousness would be labeled suicide, what would my action be labeled? Suicide misdirection I should suppose.

Robbing a bank would qualify as simple task compared to faking one’s death and with reasons best known to you, it’s a worthy cause. It really doesn’t matter because anyways, I don’t think you could pull that off and even if you could, your addiction to social media would have helped to give us a hint a few days before. What is the worst that would happen, to warrant a thought as this? Are you being bullied in school? You got raped and cannot live with the stigma of unwanted pregnancy? Do you want a life of freedom?

The truth is this; wherever you step your feet on planet earth, you get to live with and around humans, and most importantly, within them, and the faster you learn the art of human relations, purchasing an eye of optimism in the midst of the worst of situations, you would probably be planning to fake your death once in a fortnight, an event I tried severally and failed.

The simple thoughts of faking my death, is a script I never finished writing, one whose pen I never intend to pick up again. I am alive; I had better enjoy my life!

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