I am an orphan. No. To be honest, I don’t know. My parents could be out there living their best lives. Maybe I am one of those kids who were left in the dustbin a few days after they were born. I was left to fend for myself at a very young age. People often speak of happiness but I don’t know what that is. My adoptive parents were so abusive and prejudicial to me. Every day their kids reminded me that I was not one of them. I was not shocked when they told me, because I could see that something was amiss, judging by the way they treated me. I, therefore, had to run away from “home”. However, I will forever be grateful to my adoptive parents, because unlike my real parents they fed and sheltered me.
The streets became my home. I don’t think I deserve to live. I have heard clever people say that all those who were born deserve to live but I have had enough. I have wronged too many people. This I did for my own survival. I know I shouldn’t have run away with the old woman’s sandwich. But it was almost two days without having eaten to an extent that I thought I was going to die. I know I shouldn’t have stolen the blanket from the washing line. But the streets of Johannesburg are so cold in winter. If I had not found something to keep warm at night, I might have been found frozen to death in the morning. That is the problem with the streets; only the fittest survive. These are not excuses because the people I wronged were not responsible for my poverty. I had ran out of options. That is one of the disadvantages of being a hobo; you don’t have a lot of options. You are grateful even when you find any kind of leftovers in the dustbin.
Life is unbearable. I want to live no more. People say those who commit suicide are going to burn in hell. I am sure that hell is a better place than this life I am living. The more I live, the more people I offend. I steal things people have worked hard for. But trust me I do not enjoy it. I am sincerely sorry to all the people I saddened by my actions. I am a nobody so nobody is going to miss me or mourn my death. And if by any chance you come through this suicide note, share it with the world. Please be kind to other street kids like myself. When you see them in town don’t hate them. As street kids we know that we don’t smell so nice, we are dirty and annoying when begging but it’s not by choice. We have no control over it. So next time you see a street kid treat them with respect and dignity. Not all of us had homes. Not all of us were drug addicts and not all of us sniff glue. And not all street kids steal like myself. It’s just that we are misunderstood. Our stories are not told. Sometimes people narrate them in a way that will suit their own agenda. I want to live no more. I love you all.
If you have ever felt some of the feelings expressed in this piece don’t hesitate to reach out. LifeLine has a free number you can call to speak to someone who understands: try 0861 322 322 or 021 461 1111. Death is not the only way out. The pain doesn’t have to last forever, you can get help.
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