“I’ve always heard this low-pitched, male voice narrating my entire life,” wrote Aaron as a tear dripped on to the page. “I can hear him right now talking about how I’m crying. I assume I’m mentally ill. I’m not dumb enough to think he’s ‘real,’ but no type of therapy or medication has made him go away. I refuse to live like this anymore.”
Aaron’s suicide note was getting to be longer than he had anticipated. “Now he’s commenting on the length of this note. He says things before I can even register them sometimes. Something is clearly wrong with me. I can’t trust my own perceptions if I’m hearing voices that aren’t mine talking about things I know I couldn’t possibly know! It’s fucked with me long enough. I need a solution. I’ve tried everything else.”
Aaron concluded his note with, frankly, a rather feeble “Please let it stop. Please go away.” Then he burned with resentment at the insult. Crybaby.
Leaving the note on his desk, Aaron leapt out of his apartment window, but the relief he anticipated did not materialize on his trip down.
Instead, a bolt of terror slammed into his chest like the imminent pavement. It struck him that he had never once asked the Narrator to “please go away.” And that was all he ever had to do!