Tuesday 15 March 2011

To the architect of my misery...

Dear Mrs X

It's 2.45am on a Tuesday, nearly four years since your reckless disregard for speed limits destroyed my life.

I'm lying here in agony, having just taken the 55th and 60th miligrams of morphine in 24 hours. Earlier on I collapsed in pain in the doctor's surgery.

If I could get to my car right now, I would drive it straight into the nearest bridge abutment. Luckily for you, I can't even get to the kitchen to get a drink. (Which also knocks out overdosing, putting my head in the oven and slicing my wrists.)

There was a letter waiting for me when I finally got home from the doctor's today. Ironically, it was from the surgery, inviting me to book a smear test. I threw it away - why would I put myself through the indignity and discomfort of a smear test, when I'd have absolutely no intention of accepting treatment if it came back positive? These days, a diagnosis of cancer would be a blessed relief, because it would mean this would all end soon, without me having to hurt the people I love by taking matters into my own hands.

I hope you're proud of what you and your snazzy car have achieved. I hope whatever you were in such a hurry for was worth it. Not only have you made my life not worth living, you've put my friends and family through hell worrying about me.

Way to go you miserable, selfish cunting bitch. I hope it was fucking worth it.

Posted from Blogium for iPhone

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