I am sorry that it has
come to this.
The fact is, for as long
as I can remember my motivation for getting up every day
has been so that you would not have to bury me. As things
have continued to get worse, it has become clear that
this alone is not a sufficient reason to carry on. The
fact is, I am not getting better, I am not going to get
better, and I will most certainly deteriorate further as
time goes on. From a logical standpoint, it is better to
simply end things quickly and let any repercussions from
that play out in the short term than to drag things out
into the long term.
You will perhaps be sad for a time, but over time you
will forget and begin to carry on. Far better that than
to inflict my growing misery upon you for years and
decades to come, dragging you down with me. It is because
I love you that I can not do this to you. You will come
to see that it is a far better thing as one day after
another passes during which you do not have to worry
about me or even give me a second thought. You will find
that your world is better without me in it.
I really have been trying to hang on, for more than a
decade now. Each day has been a testament to the extent
to which I cared, suffering unspeakable horror as quietly
as possible so that you could feel as though I was still
here for you. In truth, I was nothing more than a prop,
filling space so that my absence would not be noted. In
truth, I have already been absent for a long, long time.
My body has become nothing but a cage, a source of pain
and constant problems. The illness I have has caused me
pain that not even the strongest medicines could dull,
and there is no cure. All day, every day a screaming
agony in every nerve ending in my body. It is nothing
short of torture. My mind is a wasteland, filled with
visions of incredible horror, unceasing depression, and
crippling anxiety, even with all of the medications the
doctors dare give. Simple things that everyone else takes
for granted are nearly impossible for me. I can not laugh
or cry. I can barely leave the house. I derive no
pleasure from any activity. Everything simply comes down
to passing time until I can sleep again. Now, to sleep
forever seems to be the most merciful thing.
You must not blame yourself. The simple truth is this:
During my first deployment, I was made to participate in
things, the enormity of which is hard to describe. War
crimes, crimes against humanity. Though I did not
participate willingly, and made what I thought was my
best effort to stop these events, there are some things
that a person simply can not come back from. I take some
pride in that, actually, as to move on in life after
being part of such a thing would be the mark of a
sociopath in my mind. These things go far beyond what
most are even aware of.
To force me to do these things and then participate in
the ensuing coverup is more than any government has the
right to demand. Then, the same government has turned
around and abandoned me. They offer no help, and actively
block the pursuit of gaining outside help via their
corrupt agents at the DEA. Any blame rests with them.
Beyond that, there are the host of physical illnesses
that have struck me down again and again, for which they
also offer no help. There might be some progress by now
if they had not spent nearly twenty years denying the
illness that I and so many others were exposed to.
Further complicating matters is the repeated and severe
brain injuries to which I was subjected, which they also
seem to be expending no effort into understanding. What
is known is that each of these should have been cause
enough for immediate medical attention, which was not
rendered.
Lastly, the DEA enters the picture again as they have now
managed to create such a culture of fear in the medical
community that doctors are too scared to even take the
necessary steps to control the symptoms. All under the
guise of a completely manufactured “overprescribing
epidemic,” which stands in stark relief to all of
the legitimate research, which shows the opposite to be
true. Perhaps, with the right medication at the right
doses, I could have bought a couple of decent years, but
even that is too much to ask from a regime built upon the
idea that suffering is noble and relief is just for the
weak.
However, when the challenges facing a person are already
so great that all but the weakest would give up, these
extra factors are enough to push a person over the edge.
Is it any wonder then that the latest figures show 22
veterans killing themselves each day? That is more
veterans than children killed at Sandy Hook, every single
day. Where are the huge policy initiatives? Why
isn’t the president standing with those families at
the state of the union? Perhaps because we were not
killed by a single lunatic, but rather by his own system
of dehumanization, neglect, and indifference.
It leaves us to where all we have to look forward to is
constant pain, misery, poverty, and dishonor. I assure
you that, when the numbers do finally drop, it will
merely be because those who were pushed the farthest are
all already dead.
And for what? Bush’s religious lunacy? Cheney’s
ever growing fortune and that of his corporate friends?
Is this what we destroy lives for
Since then, I have tried everything to fill the void. I
tried to move into a position of greater power and
influence to try and right some of the wrongs. I deployed
again, where I put a huge emphasis on saving lives. The
fact of the matter, though, is that any new lives saved
do not replace those who were murdered. It is an exercise
in futility.
Then, I pursued replacing destruction with creation. For
a time this provided a distraction, but it could not
last. The fact is that any kind of ordinary life is an
insult to those who died at my hand. How can I possibly
go around like everyone else while the widows and orphans
I created continue to struggle? If they could see me
sitting here in suburbia, in my comfortable home working
on some music project they would be outraged, and
rightfully so.
I thought perhaps I could make some headway with this
film project, maybe even directly appealing to those I
had wronged and exposing a greater truth, but that is
also now being taken away from me. I fear that, just as
with everything else that requires the involvement of
people who can not understand by virtue of never having
been there, it is going to fall apart as careers get in
the way.
The last thought that has occurred to me is one of some
kind of final mission. It is true that I have found that
I am capable of finding some kind of reprieve by doing
things that are worthwhile on the scale of life and
death. While it is a nice thought to consider doing some
good with my skills, experience, and killer instinct, the
truth is that it isn’t realistic. First, there are
the logistics of financing and equipping my own
operation, then there is the near certainty of a grisly
death, international incidents, and being branded a
terrorist in the media that would follow. What is really
stopping me, though, is that I simply am too sick to be
effective in the field anymore. That, too, has been taken
from me.
Thus, I am left with basically nothing. Too trapped in a
war to be at peace, too damaged to be at war. Abandoned
by those who would take the easy route, and a liability
to those who stick it out—and thus deserve better.
So you see, not only am I better off dead, but the world
is better without me in it
This is what brought me to my actual final mission. Not
suicide, but a mercy killing. I know how to kill, and I
know how to do it so that there is no pain whatsoever. It
was quick, and I did not suffer. And above all, now I am
free. I feel no more pain. I have no more nightmares or
flashbacks or hallucinations. I am no longer constantly
depressed or afraid or worried
I am free.
I ask that you be happy for me for that. It is perhaps
the best break I could have hoped for. Please accept this
and be glad for me.
Daniel Somers
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