No one ever dies "before their time"

There is no such thing. It's just one of those stupid ass things people say in the throes of grief. Admit it, when someone dies it is intrinsically their time.
I will never unwelcome death. Hell, I've got a personal story that probably traumatizes each person that hears or reads it. For the girl that never wanted to reveal the details, and took 20 years to discover what exactly they were...to what end? This time line, story, the details alllll are the messed up experiences that have impacted and created who I am today....and I can't even tell my own fucking story because it's pure grotesque and hideousness makes people slam the book, avoid the page and close their ears, minds and hearts because it is so fucking painful.
It's like sitting around with an arrow in my chest...pull it out and I die...leave it in and I die a slow, gruesome death having never been heard. It feels like such a no-win clusterfuck.
I've walked around, head down, arms crossed in the mean, unforgiving streets of internal madness only to find the doors out, the open windows, when I could be heard, as I'm willing to tell my truths...it just hurts people.
God, I'm fucking Frankenstein's monster, still trapped deeply within myself as the outlets are barred and blocked. God, yes, there are dozens of disgusting, hideous reasons why my mind fractured. It is so clear....yet, there is no way out of this stinking, fetid, knee-deep pool of life sucking muck...and no one can get past the stench to pull me out by my outstretched hand.
Do you see?...there is no way out. Double-bind. Twice beaten. Heavy whipped. Castigated. Trapped within my own torture inflicted by others.
I was always innocent....never did anything to deserve this plate of massacred memories.
There is no applause, no reward, for each and every day that I have screwed my head on, put on an extra overcoat, strapped on climbing boots, threw opened the door and stumbled into the turbulent storm that forever howls on the outside.
I carry around this pain in fifty pound sacks of bloody nail and beaten barbed wire clutched closely to my chest because it's all me, all I've ever had and no one's ever given a shit or, I don't even think anyone's capable of getting close enough to me without getting burned or wounded or losing their fucking mind. Easy to see why I lost mine. God, Fuck, so easy to see how they destroyed me so thoroughly and viciously.
And maybe someone wonders why I am so sad, angry and despondent when all they have to do is be there to listen but they can't.
This shit, these fucked up series of dozens of highly disturbing incidents wounds even the strongest of caring listeners.
I feel, yet cannot share.
Surely, I shall die alone
And no one will never know the whole story.