I will tell you everything that happened to me last week in short.

I don't want to remember anything.

7:30 PM September 28

I caused a car accident involving a 22-year-old girl, and she died not long after. I don't think I can feel anything anymore except self-loathing. When I met her family, I couldn't look at their faces; my eyes were closed, my hands were dry in the cold of the air-conditioned room. I expected them to scream at me, curse me, slap me, hit me, kill me, but they remained silent and looked at me. The silence killed me from the inside. I wondered if I had committed or died in some corner before the accident, would that girl have been able to live on? The father patted my shoulder, but he still didn't say anything, and I still didn't look up. He stood like that for a while before he and his family decided to leave. Leaving me with the nausea of ​​a murderer.

I killed a person, a person with a family, a person with will, a person with ideals, a person with a dream, a person with emotions, a person with a future to step forward, a person with a past to step back from, a person with someone to love, a person with someone to be loved, a person who can give something to others, a person, a person who is better than me. My head hurts, my eyes are red, I'm cold, my heart beats in the worst way, I'm nauseous, I could vomit my larynx out. Then what? 5 days later, they said they forgave, they said it was just an unwanted accident, they were too forgiving, but I'm not like that, I can't forgive myself. All done, they said. Reconciliation, compensation, apologies, tears, packing up the broken pieces. But in me, nothing is done. "It was just an accident." I couldn't listen to that. I couldn't understand how they could forgive me, why they treated me so well. Do they want me to suffer more by forgiving me? I want them to at least show a little anger towards me; I just killed their daughter. I'll get a psychiatrist to help me before my mom finds my body hanging in the bathroom.