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When Gorbachev first became General Secretary, he believed he could change Russia. In his campaigns, he portrayed himself to be the savior who ended the evil Soviet empire.
Now, he looks at the map of Russia on his desk, thinking about all the times he lied to his followers.
He wasn't a savior. He could never be one.
Gorbachev wants to resign; he was never fit to lead in the first place. How could he say he's a savior when he doesn't even know how to save Russia? He wasn't a great communicator like Ronald Reagan; he was just this dumb peasant who only got chosen because the other candidate was somehow even more useless and selfish than him.
He sighed, got up from his desk and walked to the bathroom. Gorbachev didn't even bother to look at himself in the mirror. He knew he was a fat tyrannical dictator, and he didn't need a mirror to tell him that.
Gorbachev sat on the floor, not wanting to leave, not wanting to go to any meetings. No one would care if he went or not, the Cold War would continue either way.
The floor was cold. He hated it. It reminded him of all his so-called "accomplishments" and all the times he failed his own people.
Stop acting like you're Jesus.
You're NEVER going to be good enough for the Russian people.
These were thoughts that repeated over and over again in his mind, he wished he could die, just to stop them from coming.
"Mikhail?" His wife asked, snapped him out of his thoughts. She has been concerned about her husband's behavior lately but never thought it was this bad. "Are you ok?"
"Yes, Raisa. I'm fine. Leave me alone, please." Gorbachev pleaded, not wanting her to see how much he was suffering.
Raisa sighed.
"Ok, but if you need me for anything, I'll be right here." She said, leaving the bathroom.
As she shut the bathroom door, Gorbachev finally decided to look in the mirror. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was about to see. He got up and walked towards it.
When Gorbachev arrived at the mirror, he flinched. He looked like he hadn't slept for days, he was thin from starving himself in order to look "good" for the interviews and his body was covered in red lines because of the self-harm he committed secretly during important meetings.
The more he stared at himself, the harsher the voices became. They were telling him he should kill himself, that nobody would miss him, and that he failed everyone.
Just die.
Kill yourself.
No one wants you here.
Gorbachev started to hyperventilate, he was trying so hard not to cry but the urge to hurt or even kill himself had come back. The thoughts were louder than they were 5 months ago, making him whisper and plead for them to stop.
"Pozhaluysta, ostanovis'." He whispered angrily, tears streaming down his face. His breathing was shallow and rapid, making him almost die of asphyxiation.
DO IT. NO ONE LOVES YOU. YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO SAVE RUSSIA.
His whole body was shaking, his heart was racing and he couldn't calm down no matter how many deep breaths he took.
"P-Please make it STOP." Gorbachev whimpered through his hyperventilating as he began to curl into the fetal position on the floor. He was now crying harder than he had ever done before. "I'm s-sorry, I-I'll do better, please just stop."
After a few minutes, Gorbachev sighed in exhaustion and continued to sit for 4 more hours.
He couldn't save Russia, and it was all his fault.