10/25/15

A letter.

Dear whoever is reading this,

 I've always been the kind of person who kept things to themselves, and I wish I could do the same with this. I hope you know this is not your fault, but it is simply mine. It is mine. This is mine. My death is mine. No, to answer your questions, this could not have been helped. No, you didn't know. I made sure to always try my hardest to keep my sadness mine. I want to make it clear that I do not regret doing this. I also want to make sure that you don't go around talking about me. Don't make it seem like I am still alive - obviously that's the last thing I wanted - so please, leave me in the past. I am gone; I am not the subject of what-if questions or daydreams or some bullshit charity organization. What I've done to myself is not beautiful. Dying doesn't make you perfect, but f**k that. I WAS DONE HITTING ROCK BOTTOM. I WAS DONE FINDING THE END IN EVERYTHING BEFORE IT EVEN BEGAN. But nevertheless, I hope you know that I broke my own heart, I chose to stay at rock bottom, I chose to look for the end in everything, and I chose to do this to myself. This was all me. I was never okay and death didn't make me any better - None of this matters. None of it ever mattered. Death is not poetic and life is not poetry. I ruined myself and this is all my fault. I got tired of being in a constant state of just existing. I did this to myself - but I also did this for myself. How was I supposed to keep living if all I thought about was dying? Mom, I'm sorry. Take care of yourself, okay? Sunshine, you are more than what you think. You are the best person I have ever known and everything you do is a big deal. I feel sorry for the people who don't see you as Heaven it's self because they'll never know what it's like to be truly happy. Don't feel bad for enjoying life, that's what I want you to do. I love you. I'm sorry. You're brilliant. My sadness was the most intimate part of me, but now my death is the most intimate part of me. My death is mine. --- Goodbye.