The older I get, the more frightened I become. Not of death. But of continuing to exist. Oh, I long for death. Please, death. But not this deteriorating going on. Please. I don’t want to be a pathetic, useless old woman.
The older I get, the worse my health is; the less good I am to anyone, the more of a burden I become.
Being a woman, I am scared I will outlive my husband. And, being unable to take care of myself, I wonder what horrors await me on this wretched mortal plane.
I am so scared. I am so weary.
Where is the mercy? Why can’t I go now?