"Dear diary." This is it. I have ended my miserable life.
I couldn't take this [bad word] any more. Being trapped in a wheelchair for the rest of my [bad word] life is just not worth it. The surgeons told me that everything would be ok, they gave me hope, only to [bad word] it under the soles of their feet and watch me destroy myself. They lied to me! They didn't know what it felt like! I thought I could handle my emotions, control them, contain them, prove them all wrong, but I was just too weak. I let it slip through my fingers, out of my grip. It poisoned me, it clouded my mind. They didn't know anything, they only feel the cold touch of their knives!
They gave me antidepressants. It helped me think clearly, to see things through. I took a couple of extra pills this afternoon, they showed me what I had to do in this... short moment of clarity. They showed me that there was noone and nothing worth living for. They showed me how fake Sophie and my doctor were, how they were laughing at me behind their masks when I wasn't looking.
Laughing at me, my legs, thinking that they are so good, that they are better than me.
Pretending that they care about me, it's all [bad word]  
The pills showed me the [bad word] today, they always did. They opened my eyes, they gave me wisdom, and I acted upon it.
So I had to kill Sophie and my doctor..., my... "mentor", my "counsellor". Heh. I had to take them down with me. They're not laughing any more! 
Oh I wish I could've taken everybody with me, but unfortunately, my situation makes that impossible. 
To whoever is reading this: I hope my dead body will haunt you forever. Have fun scraping my brains off the wall. 

F**k you. 
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To whoever is reading this: I'm hopefully dead.
I just couldn't live this lifer anymore: my paralyzed legs made me worthless, and I felt like an outsider ever since the accident. Anxiety and depression controlled my life, and there was no way out of this bottomless pit. My friends looked right past me, my family abandoned me., Nobody wants a cripple, especially one that would need your help. F**king worthless.
The only person that ever tried to help me was my doctor... he tried.... a lot. He is the only reason this book exists. Writing it has helped me put things into perspective I think, but  in the end it hasn't really changed anything for me. I still felt like [bad word]  and was still all alone in solitude. Purnell, if you are reading this. I'm sorry, there were no choices left. I made up my mind, not everyone can be saved.
I had to end my life, and I had to take my special person with me. Sophie... I wanted to keep her with me. I wanted to keep her all for myself.
I hope her body is rotting away when you find her.
This is my conclusion, this is my end, farewell everyone.
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Finally... It's all over. By the time you are reading this, you will find my dead body covered in blood with my head blown to bits. I know, you might think I'm not... or wasn't normal, I was crippled, stuck in a wheelchair, and that's why I had to die. I was broken, defect, full of emotional problems. My mind was stuck in a never ending loop of anxiety, depression and despair. rollercoaster with no end, and I wanted out so bad. This book writing tip was [bad word] [bad word] it only made me realize how [bad word] f**ked my life was. Ironic how that one person who was actually paid to help me only made it worse: gave me that one last push that was needed for me to end myself, and now he is dead. Heh. It's almost poetic.
The only person who tried to help me was my only friend, Sophie. Please tell her I'm sorry, I wish her all the best. Please don't show her this mess.
This is my conclusion, this is my end, farewell everyone.
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