I love you.
I’m sorry that I’m a coward, that I’m not a good husband to you, and that I’m not a good father to our kids, and I’m sorry for being such a difficult part of your life.
I’m sorry for lying to you about my mother because my mother didn’t try to hang herself.
I tried to hang myself in our garden, and I didn’t know how to tell you, so here I am, on a fucking tape, which is not how I want to do it.
And just please know that I’m not unhappy because of you.
I’m just...This is just who I am, I guess, and I don’t know how to change that.
I don’t know what I can do to make it stop.
Every morning I wake up, and the first thing I think of is killing myself.
I feel exhausted all of the time.
I find it impossible to get any kind of pleasure from anything, even I think of the things that should make me the happiest, when I think of our love, of our children and everything that we’ve ever done together.
It’s as if I had a set amount of life assigned to me and I’ve used it all up.
There’s nothing left.