If you are reading then it means that am dead. You will find my body hanging from the noose of a rope, the rope hanging from the ceiling fan, my neck stretched so thin you are afraid it might just break. You might try to revive me but then that would be an exercise in futility. I have made my decision and I have departed this crazy world.
Why did I do it? I know this is one of the questions you are asking as you look at my body hanging from that rope. Why did I do something as horrible as this? What madness could have driven me to commit this heinous act? Why did I kill myself? The answers to these questions aren’t of course simple but I will try to explain by countering your ‘why’ with ‘why not ‘and telling you that the madness is not in me but in the world. What I have done is an act of bravery. What I have done is something that most people think of doing but are too cowardly to go through with it. What I have done is take the road less traveled. What I have done is to end the incessant misery that has been haunting me since I came into this world.
I was not born happy. As a kid, I seldom smiled. I was born unhappy and the more I tried to fit in, tried to be happy, the more unhappy I became. I was a recluse. I was the kid that no one wanted to play with, the kid that didn’t want to play with anyone. However, there were some benefits to being a recluse. If you were a recluse, you had ample time on your hands and because you had time to your self, you got the chance to read and let your mind wander and that was what I did. I read and read and read. I read myself into the college of Medicine and felt proud of myself. But something was not right, something was still missing in my life. I was longing for human company. This was of course one of the downsides of being a recluse, you stayed on your own for so long that you become bored of yourself, and that was what I became. So I sought for companionship. This didn’t work out well. The first friend I had turned out to be someone who only wanted to be friends with me because of my money. And from then on, I realized that every friend I had, every person I brought into my life, was after something. This was just how selfish human beings were.
I have a mean streak, I admit that. But I also have the incredible acuity which enables me to see people for what they really are:selfish. Everyone is out for themselves. I have come to realize that selflessness is a myth. I have come to realize how insensitive people are. Your neighbor could be drowning and yet no one would seem to be doing anything to save him or her. Instead everyone is going on with their daily lives, chatting and laughing as if nothing is wrong. When they find find my body, my siblings will ask why I had done this to myself and they would instantly tell anyone who cared enough to ask that they had no idea that I would kill myself. They would be lying. They knew. They had read the sign- my depression, my withdrawal – but they chose to ignore them because of their insensitivity.
Bu I did not kill myself because of the insensitivities of other people, now that would have been an act of cowardice. I killed myself because it makes no sense to go on living when there was really nothing to live for. I tried believing in people but got nothing but betrayals. I tried submerging my self in literature but still felt that hollowness that I can’t describe. I tried to tell my family members that I was, day after day, falling into depression but they all waved it aside. I tried talking to an acquaintance but he looked at me with a mixed expression of pity and compassion on his face and told me that I needed Jesus in my life. I was a muslim. And he only threw Jesus at me just to reinforce my initial conviction that he thought of me as a sinful heathen who was bound for hell.
I have written this in order to try and explain why I did what I did but even that in itself is daunting task. Here’s another attempt at that task:I have come to the conclusion that I can’t go on living because I don’t see the point. I can’t seem to live with myself and others don’t seem to want to live with me . I am rejected by the world for being a Muslim. I am rejected by my fellow Muslims because they think that an Ibo Muslim is somewhat not an authentic Muslim . I have rejected myself because there are several parts of me that I do not like, the part of me that does not fit into the world for instance. I have tried to be happy but have failed at that. And so I have decided to end it all.
A suicide note is not supposed to be long and so I will set down my pen at this moment and get on with killing myself. When you find my body, call my mother and tell her that I love her so much, and then call my father and tell him that I hate him so much and that he is partly to blame for what I have done.