They called it "Clinical Depression"

Finding the things that comfort you in life are important, the small things that get you through the day. For me, it was those late night drives on old county roads at 3 in the morning while I slowly inhaled the harsh smoke of a Marlboro Black and exhaled through the window. Well at least that was where I found comfort from the stresses in life, but this time it's different. This time the red and blue flashes from the police lights behind me were killing the one comfort I had left in this world. As I'm pushing 130mph I'm left pondering if it was all worth it. This is my suicide note, so put yourself in my shoes and you decide.

It all started with her. The way she smiled at me, the way she mocked me and crossed her eyes messing with me, the way she laid on my chest at night and traced her fingers on my collar bone. It was something about this soft skinned, warm hearted, beautiful girl I fell in love with. Miranda, her name still sends shivers down my spine. I wasn't one to fall in love, I found this out about myself after many relationships that came and went by with the years. I had never truly been "head over heels" in love, until her. She completely turned my world upside down in the best way possible. We were inseparable. I would have killed and died for her, I was ready to marry her and make it forever. Never would i have imagined how cold and disastrous our relationship ended. It was the romantic equivalent of the Hindenburg crash in the 1930s. Yes, that bad. It ended with us not talking for a week, then she showed up at my house wanting to "check up on me". At this point I had found out the whore had been cheating on me with her scumbag ex boyfriend the entirety of our relationship. Before I laid into her I asked her to leave because I knew it was only going to end in screaming. She refused, so the fight began. The things we said to one another were terrible things, the kind of things that would keep you up at night questioning if life is really worth living. After I told her she was going to end up like her homeless meth-addicted mom, she stormed out after calling me a cold-hearted ass hole. I never saw or heard from her again.

The weeks following were tough. I don't remember all of it because I spent every night at the bar attempting to drown my soul in shots of Wild Turkey 101 and chasing them with a swig of Gin and tonic. After some time passed, I was starting to feel "normal" again and tried to bury myself in my studies since I'm second year medical student. Though I felt better, something wasn't ever quite right, like I had lost something but didn't know what it was.

Four months had passed and things were getting worse. At this point my family and friends had started noticing I wasn't okay. My mom recommended I get a psychiatrist, my friends were trying to spend more time with me like I was sick and on my death bed, my sister started calling me every other night checking up on me. It was frustrating. I understood they only wanted the best for me but it was a constant reminder of the fact that I'm not okay. I usually found myself not responding or yelling at my family and friends when they wouldn't let me be. But the most annoying thing was I still didn't know what was "not okay" about me.

Another month had passed, my family and friends haven't been trying to check up on me like they were. It feels... well. I'm not sure how I feel about it, trying to rack my brain on how I felt with my isolation on my way to work I became increasingly more frustrated with every mile. By the time I got to work I was mad, right as I enter the office, (which I work part time at as a receptionist) Joe, the office moron, began busting my balls. "Morning jerk off, what's with the sour face?" "What? Your momma don't love you?" "Could you not get it up for some bar skank last night?" He said with malicious laugh. I walked right past him to my desk and slammed my things down, attempting to make it clear I don't want any shit. Joe then pops his head around the corner and says "What? Can't the office bitch take a little shit or is he jus..." His sentence was cut off by the right hook I landed on his cheek. As I stood over his prone body enraged, I looked up to see the entire office staring at me. I immediately grabbed my shit and left.

Driving home pissed was a fucking whirl wind of cussing and speeding past people. Once I got home I was ready to go inside and break out the liquor. As I unlocked and opened my front door my damn dog got out and began running around the yard. I proceeded to chase him down, but couldn't catch the mut. After half an hour I finally did, red from exhaustion and anger I threw him in the house and slammed the door behind me. I walked up to his trembling body and unleashed a NFL style kick off punt to his head. He let out an ear piercing yipe and laid on the ground. I stood there waiting for him to get up. He didn't. I felt for a pulse. There wasn't one.

In the moment I was overwhelmed with feelings of sadness and despair. I loved that damn dog and I killed him. As I held his limp body in my arms, I realised something. With tears streaming down my face, I felt something. Even if it was sadness, I felt an emotion besides anger for the first time in over 6 months. It was... exhilarating. Feeling those deep human emotions again, it was like I found a small piece of myself that I had lost so so long ago. With in an hour, the emotions were gone. The weird thing was I didn't care what emotion I felt. I wanted more.

A few weeks passed, once again I was a cold shell of a human. Everyday I woke up craving the warm feeling of emotions. But I couldn't find a way to reach them. I tried everything, inflicting self-pain, hooking up with random girls, doing random acts of kindness. Nothing filled me with emotion quite like I wanted. I was devastated, I needed to actually feel something. The next evening I got a call from my mother, she wanted me to come to her house for dinner with her and my sister. I reluctantly agreed since she had complained of not seeing me for months.

I went to my mother's house on Santa Fe street around 5pm dinner. When I arrived my sister wasn't there yet and my mother was in the kitchen cooking Salisbury steak, which she knew was my favorite. I sat in the living room and was watching tv. It was on the news and as usual it was something about Donald Trump on there. I immediately flipped the channel and left it on "Murder Mysteries". The show is riveting with suspense and cold cases. I was really into an episode when I was interrupted by my mother yelling. "Aiden, come help me with dinner." I sluggishly got up and proceeded into the kitchen where my mother pointed to a cutting board, some greens, and a large kitchen knife and told me to get to it.

I walked over and picked up the knife studying the blade and more importantly the sharp edge. I ran my fingers up and down it, it had been freshly sharpened. "Well are you gonna stare at it or use it?", my mother said. I began cutting the vegetables and looked over my shoulder at my mother. She had her back turned to me stirring the pot on the stove. I stopped cutting and turned around still wielding the knife.

I slowly approached her back, the knifes point no more than 2 inches from the back of her floral dress. I lunged forward and sat the knife on counter next to her. She turned around and I told her the vegetables were all cut up. She looked over to see a pile of uncut vegetables on the cutting board. As she looked at me to question me, I wrapped both of my hands tight around her throat and threw her to the ground.

I could feel her slowly stop squirming and I could see the light slowly fading away in her eyes. I was ready for it, I was ready for the emotions to over take me and help fill the gap in me. My hands still wrapped around her neck, she laid there unconscious almost dead. I was so caught up in the moment awaiting my reward. I hadn't heard the door open, just in time I looked up too see my sister standing there in horror. She was motionless, until I stood up and grabbed the kitchen knife.

I chased her down in the front yard as she screamed for help. I caught her since she tripped over her sandal while running through the grass. I jumped onto her back and immediately plunged the giant kitchen knife into her, then again and again and again. Once more waiting for my flood of emotions, but then i hear the police sirens ringing in the distance. I race to my car and peel out evading the gruesome scene.

130, 135, 140, 145mph. I was flying down a 2 lane county road. I was over. My life was over as I know it. Well, I really haven't had a life in the past half year. Living life as a cold emotionally detached drone is no way to live. 150mph. My last hope is that when this is read, all of you understand why I did it and that when I drive this car into the ditch it kills me. But it doesn't matter anymore, nothing does. The only thing that ever mattered to me was her. 155mph. Maybe if I just would have reached out to her, things wouldn't have ended this way. Maybe. Just maybe...