May 13, 2026, Wednesday.
Little America, Wyoming.

Every day I wonder when my dear mother will close her eyes to life. “If only she would die sooner so I wouldn’t have to look after her anymore” – this is my trouble. I am aware that it might sound disgusting and horrible, but life sometimes contains disgusting and horrible realities too.

I have never been able to grasp the meaning of forcing a mentally ill person to live. It has been like this since my childhood. Of course, back then I didn’t know that my mother would lose her mind one day too.

When I say losing her mind, ours is Alzheimer’s, but isn’t that also a kind of loss of mind? After all, she is not even aware that she is living. Then what is the meaning of her living? Or she is not aware of my existence. Then what meaning do I have for her? Or she is not very aware of her own existence either. We can’t have any conversations. No memory of ours comes alive in her memory. We can’t laugh together, we can’t cry together. Then whether it’s her, or someone else, or a wall, or a statue – what difference does it make? See, I don’t understand any of this. For this reason, if it were up to me, there should be euthanasia and stuff, and for example, if I get Alzheimer’s one day too, they should lay me down, mix the drug into my blood with a needle from my arm, and I should just die and go. Besides, I don’t even have a child. Who is going to look after me? I will die shitting myself in the middle of the road. I’ll even be a nuisance to people. Isn’t it best that I die? Let the state take me, do something beneficial for society, and kill me. This is how I think.

For this reason, I am also impatient for my mother to die. I mean, for years I have been sending one or two thousand dollars every month. But until when will this continue like this? Anyway, I send it for my father and my sister rather than my mother. My father died, and now I have my sister on my head. If I told her these things I am writing, the girl would die of grief. But unfortunately, these are my real thoughts. So what, brother? I am going to die too. Maybe I’ll die even earlier than my mother. I am sick of working. I want to breathe a little, rest, travel around, and have fun.

I don’t know, man. This is how I think. Maybe I am thinking wrong. But this is how I think.

Look, saying this and that, my dad went away. I used to write for years wondering when my mom and dad would die, and my dad died, bless him. My mom is left. If she dies too, there will be no one acting more like a king than me. I don’t know, my sister is left behind but I probably can’t look after her until she dies either. She can go and work. She is able-bodied. She is younger than me. Let her find a solution. Besides, I am leaving the house and the car to her too. I don’t want anything. As long as she doesn’t ask for anything ever again. Ohh.

Look at this. Imagine when that day comes… It will be so beautiful, man. A heavy burden will be lifted off my back. I can’t care about the judgment of people who haven’t worked day and night and sent the money they received in return for this torment and labor to their mother and father. You work like a dog first, then send the pennies you get in return for all that effort to your parents, experience what kind of feeling it is, then let’s talk. A person whose parents are rich naturally wants their parents not to die. The guy is 30 years old, 40 years old, still living off his father’s money, his mother prepares his breakfast. Well, fuck, if I had a situation like that, I would want them to live for a thousand years too.

I’m going to go to the consulate too. You see, I will transfer my rights over the house I had built for my parents and the car I bought for my father to my sister. I am a bit like this because of that. If it were up to me, if I were to sell that house and car, I would need to start a business with that money, even if it’s small. You will start a business so that money will come in, you won’t have to work. But my sister is just going to sell that car and buy a car she wants. And she will sell that house and buy a house in a place she wants. And that money won’t even be enough to buy a house in the place she wants, and most probably I will be paying the installments again for years. There are probably very few things as disgusting as family. I will say I wish I had grown up in an orphanage, but that would be disrespectful to those who grew up in an orphanage. Just as I don’t expect those who haven’t worked and looked after their father to understand me, I have probably belittled the troubles of those who grew up in an orphanage now. Not knowing is bliss, you see. Because I don’t know, I am just shooting off my mouth.

No, okay, God bless them, they fed me, gave me to drink, raised me, but man, there are so many people around me, their parents fed, gave to drink, and raised them too, but they still call their fathers and ask for money and stuff when they are in a tight spot. My situation is very sad compared to them. But it’s the world, of course. There are also those whose situation is ten times sadder than mine. As a human being, this is the kind of creature we are, what can I do, I don’t see those whose situation is worse than mine because it doesn’t suit me, what suits me is looking at those whose situation is better than mine and whining like a scumbag.