My death will be caused by morphine, which I have deliberately

“My death will be caused by morphine, which I have deliberately taken with suicidal intent.” — these are words carved not in stone, but in the trembling silence between pain and release. Spoken by Alex Campbell, they do not glorify despair, but reveal the deep, tragic chasm of the human soul when burden becomes too great for flesh to carry. In these words lives a sorrow as ancient as the world — the moment when life’s fire, once bright and beautiful, dims beneath the weight of suffering. Yet even in this darkness, there lies a hidden light: a lesson on the fragility of existence and the sacred duty to guard the flame within.

In the style of the ancients, we must not turn away from the anguish such a confession brings. To do so would be to deny the truth of the human heart. Suicide, though feared and condemned in many ages, is not merely an act of destruction — it is the cry of a soul unheard. The ancients spoke of such despair as a storm of the spirit, a tempest in which even the strongest may drown. For when hope departs, reason itself falters, and the mind seeks silence where none should be. Alex Campbell’s words, heavy with deliberate intent, do not celebrate the end, but bear witness to the abyss that opens when life’s meaning fades from view.

Remember the story of Cleopatra, last queen of Egypt, whose death by the venomous asp became legend. She, too, chose her passing — not from weakness, but from pride, from the desire to die on her own terms rather than submit to humiliation. The Romans would have paraded her through the streets, a broken monarch in chains. Instead, she crowned her death with sovereignty. Though her choice was born of despair, history remembers her with awe. Her death, like Campbell’s confession, speaks to the terrible power of choice, the human will to determine its own end when the world feels beyond redemption.

Yet we must not mistake understanding for acceptance. To see the sorrow of another is not to sanctify it. The lesson of such words is not that one should embrace death, but that we must strive to ease the pain that leads to it. Every soul that whispers such a farewell once longed for light — for understanding, for peace, for love that could anchor them in the storm. It is the duty of the living to hear that cry before it becomes silence. When a person declares their intent to die, it is not the end they seek, but an end to pain. And so, we must become healers of one another, keepers of the fragile flame of being.

The ancients believed that every life carries a divine spark, a fragment of eternity itself. To extinguish it, even by one’s own hand, was to deny the gods’ gift — but also to reveal the tragedy of being human: that we can both cherish and destroy ourselves. Morphine, in Campbell’s final confession, stands as the symbol of both mercy and poison — a substance once used to soothe pain, yet capable of ending life. It embodies the dual nature of all things: healing and harm, hope and despair, life and death.

So what then is the teaching hidden within these sorrowful words? It is this: we must learn to listen to pain before it becomes fatal. We must speak light into the darkness of others, and into our own. Let none walk alone in the valley of despair. Reach out, even when your own hands tremble; speak hope, even when your own heart falters. For no one should ever feel that death is the only escape from life. The strength of humanity lies not in unbroken joy, but in our capacity to endure and to lift each other when we fall.

Therefore, let those who live remember this sacred duty: if you see a soul withdrawing, draw nearer. If you hear the whisper of surrender, speak words of courage. If you feel the weight of despair within your own breast, know this — you are not alone, and the dawn will come. The story of Alex Campbell is a warning and a prayer: that we may learn compassion before it is too late, and guard one another from the edge where sorrow and silence meet. For to save one life is to honor the sacred fire of all humanity — and to remind the world that even in its deepest night, hope still lives.