Suicide Mission: Where we try to persuade Surry to kill herself.

Surry, I am on a mission. It is two-fold.
One is to tell you the unvarnished, butt fucking ugly truth about yourself.
The second being the hoped for by-product of that...
Your suicide.

You SERIOUSLY, no joking, need psychiatric help.
But I don't want that to happen. I want you to continue to self-medicate, but you need to pick up the pace, honey. This slow death thing will not do. You are only prolonging your misery, and the misery of everyone in your sphere.
The misery of your family, who you are an embarrassment to. They are ashamed at your drunken tirades at family functions. They fear their children will turn out like you. You are the only one of your siblings who is a failure. The only one who has ever had a warrant out for their arrest for failure to appear for the DUI you got.
You will never have children because of your two abortions. Every time you see your nieces and nephews, you are reminded of your awful deeds.
The way you willingly, voluntarily, allowed them to stick a hose up you and vacuum your babies out like dirty water from a dark cold basement.
Have you ever seen an aborted baby? They come out in chunks. Tiny innocent limbs rent asunder from fragile, transparent bodies.
You did this.
YOU.
Bleed out.

You are OBSESSED with three people who in reality, are nothing more than pixels. Points of digital color control your mind and emotions.
Your response to them is Pavlovian. The bell of their memory dings in your brain, and you bark like the substitute baby you have.
You talk about them incessantly. Think about them when they aren't there.
Stew about them in your lonely offline life.
Dream about them.
Drink yourself into a demented stupor over them. You are jealous you can't be like them, or have them.
This is the Truth.
Bleed out.

You are hideous to behold. You are ugly of countenance, carriage, body, mind, speech, thought and action.
There is not one thing interesting, fascinating, compelling, or enchanting about you.
Not.
One.
This is the Truth.
Bleed out.

Every man you have ever managed to get has cheated on you or left you.
Every.
One.
You have stalked men online. Called them at their homes. Begged them to leave their wives for you. Begged them to love you. You cry on VC over men who are disgusted by your repugnant, rotten mind and body, and who do not want you. There isn't a single cell in your being that is sexy or attractive.
You are a world class, Olympic level penis shrinker.
You have threatened men at work with false sexual harassment charges if they refused to talk to you.
This is the Truth.
Bleed out.

Which brings us to your drinking.
Ever smell a drunk, Korie?
Their breath? Their sweat?
The booze emanates from them in great malodorous vapors, with undertones of vomit and urine.
This is you.
You stink.
And, my. What an angry drunk you are.
You drink to kill the pain of the reality of what you are, and spew it forth in great torrents to splatter everyone in your proximity with it.
This is the Truth.
Bleed out.

You claim to be the soul of compassion and love. If this is truly the view you hold of yourself, then for once in your life, do something positive for your family, friends, society, and the world, and...
BLEED THE FUCK OUT.

We implore you to not be dissuaded from suicide by others.
They only want to keep you around for juxtaposition.