Please.

I don't know what else to say. I've lost all my words, all my thoughts, all my feelings. There's nothing left but motives, and nothing good in those. Please. I am wrong. I am sorry. I am dead.

why am i still hoping?

("Look, I am about to die; so what is this birthright to me?")

O God! This nightmare! Collapse of all restraining and sustaining
Forces and bounds. All that was clear and solid, whether malign
Or comforting, has been reduced to a mercurous consistency--
Charcoal-grey and impossible to separate or see through.
I am dead among the living, mute among the speaking, foolish
Among the understanding. How--when did I ever imagine
That I knew You, my God, that I loved You? Do You see me, broken
And floundering-- she who lives, o God, she who lives, o my God!
She who lives for herself is dead while she lives. And now I know this,
That I killed not only self, that every moment the knife was dug
And twisted in my breast, it meant a little death for them as well.
There it is, still there. Do You see it, o God, that it remains
And the blood is ever falling, staining, poisoning, corrupting?
I cannot remove it. I can foresee that its removal
Will bring me bitter pain and better cleansing. I could suffocate
On my obstinacy. How is it that this should grow stronger
As I weaken, and greater as I lessen? O God, let me die
In truth, and face Your judgment--why attempt to forestall that which
Is foreordained? Deliver me in Your mercy, or cut me down
In Your justice, but do not leave me to exact misery
And trouble on myself. O God my God my God! Have You or not
Forsaken me? This nightmare, this collapse--I cannot arise
Or awaken. Is it too late to be uncovered and undone?

please. ("Have you only one blessing, my father? Bless me--me also, O my father!")