Lecter's Letter

Salutations,

Read this. My worst failure. Also, you found this because I’m dead.
Patient Name: Mr Sharad Anshur
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Date of Admission: 19/03/2019
The given excerpt is from his pen and paper exercise with the Rorschach test:
Darkness is beautiful. Beautiful. For without it, the sadness would cease to exist. He saw Darkness in its purest form. He knew it was trouble. Thence, he ran, ran and ran away as far as possible. What he couldn’t see was that Darkness had its sights on him and, once engulfed, it washes away their entire being; it completely changes someone. For he was never the same afterwards.
The pathway which led to all this began the day he was christened. For he was the only child of a working-class family. He got his fair share of attention; some he liked, some he didn’t. For he was raised behind closed doors, he never knew what the world was. All who used to accompany him throughout his childhood were his computer, books and songs. Oh God, didn’t he just love music!
Due to the amount of exposure he had, it was very easy to understand why he used to hate crowds. Why he never used to stay after his classes to hang around with his friends when he had them, makes that much more sense now. For he never realized, darkness was always there. Lurking in the shadows waiting for that opportune moment to strike. To trickle into his existence. To make him worse than he ever was. Now that opportune moment could be a bad breakup, parental issues, ego issues, because all of these were associated with him.
Wherever he went he was judged, and boy wasn’t he hated. He could feel their hatred reeking out of them like he reeked of cigarettes. For he hated himself. He hated this person that he had become. His self-hatred was explicable, what wasn’t was the hatred he had received from his peers. He never did anything wrong; all he did was trip on his playlists. He never gave them reasons to explain the prejudice he received.
Still, his friends had his back. Right?
The nail in his coffin came when he lost all of them. Among all the chaos, he was being led by this one person for that he would be eternally grateful. He liked his solitude. I mean he was raised alone, he did everything on his own. Just because of that, he was hesitant to ask for help. Maybe, just maybe he could have done things differently. Maybe if he would have been more interactive. Maybe? Just maybe.
He felt his life slipping away from his grasp. His grades went downhill. His grades were that bad, that just by virtue of them being someone else’s it would have made them depressed. His brain didn’t make things any better either. His head was messier than his room. Imagine black plague, what scene do you picture? A one with bodies strewn across fields like the seeds of the forbidden fruit? Make it 10 times worse. With faint random music always in the background.
That somehow became his defence mechanism. He learnt how to wash away everything with just bringing music to the foreground. This explains why he had that lost look in his eyes, why it always seemed that he was in a galaxy far, far away. He thought about ending it, always convinced himself not to, because again he never wanted to burden someone with his problems. He always considered it to be his fault.
He felt worthless.
His pride? Well, that shit was broken.
Unable to kill himself, he stared with killing his lungs by smoking like a chimney. He yearned for company. He started staying with anyone who wanted to stay with him. He ended up spending more than ever. He needed an escape. He wanted to leave this place and never come back. But a step like that was never in his sights. He couldn’t just leave this place without major consequences. Consequences that he couldn’t face.
His close friends chose other people over him. He never had any chances of talking to people about his condition. He wanted to tell people, he wanted the world to know. He wanted to cry it all aloud, but he was built too tough to shed any tears. He wanted people to know he also felt things, he wasn’t that cold and cut off what people believed him to be. He wanted friends. He hated to be alone with his thoughts. To put things into perspective, his life was as bad as the rotting self-esteem of a rape victim.
He was inching closer, and closer to being lost to the abyss. But somehow, the vast nothingness felt like home.
Clinical Diagnosis: Depression, Insomnia, Self-harming tendencies.
Status: Deceased
Cause of Death: Suicide.
Notable findings: A suicide note, a pack of cigarettes.
Conclusion: The patient died out of chronic depression.