I am writing this under an appreciable mental strain, since by tonight I shall be no more. Penniless, and at the end of my supply of the Copium which alone makes life endurable, I can bear the torture no longer; and shall cast myself from this NEETs abode into the squalid street below. May these words serve as a warning and my justification for fleeing from this painful existence into the cold embrace of the grave.
Arising to the dying of the eventide sun, I sluggishly and clumsily crawled to my computer to find reprieve from the banality of life by mocking rotund women and the morally degenerate. It was here that I found it. My eyes peered upon the illuminated text, hewn into digital pixels upon a slate grey, colored white and alabaster, burning into my retinas. I saw and heard the unspeakable. Tales of mother and son entwined, of dementia and autism.
As I read and listened, the sickness in my stomach grew along with the fear in my bosom and my desire to flee from the wicked script before me. Alas it was to no avail for these other feels were pushed down by a titan of thought, that of curiosity which had an iron vice grip that dragged into these murky depths of depravity.
I know little of what occurred next. I recall running with abandon, laughing and crying, screaming and slicence, awe and horror. I mingled with other madmen, as I by this point surely was, who they themselves painted graven images and screamed their elation and disgust into that foul Internet void.
I know not how I returned from that brink of sanity but all I do know is the fear of what I saw, for it is only my Copium, of which I have none left, which keeps these thoughts and recollections at bay. I cast myself now! For I can see the truth from behind my eyes and voices of Chris beating upon my ears! The window! THE WINDOW!