this is my suicide note.
i know, it’s kinda morbid. i’m sorry, i’ll try to keep it simple. simple and sweet — something i have begged life to be since i was 12. 12 is such a peculiar age. you’re old enough to understand how the world works but too young and naive to think anything horrid could ever happen to you. until you’re 14 and experience your first death — it never seems real until you’re standing at their funeral, watching your parents cry. until you’re 15 and get raped by the boy next door who seems so innocent — you don’t speak up, because it’s his word against yours and you know they won’t believe you. until you’re 16 and your first boyfriend, who claimed to love you with all his heart, hits you — he promised he’d never do it again. until you’re 20 and you hate your life — you never spoke up about anything, because you just don’t know how to get it all out. this goes on for years and years. counting down the days, hours, mins, seconds until you can be alone. for me, it was the weekend. i’d lock myself in my room, play music and silence the world until i felt okay again. music has saved my life more than once, and i am forever in debt to the artists who made me feel, think, and believe differently.
people would ask why i couldn’t go out — i didn’t want to. the days kept passing by and i did nothing. i didn’t want to do anything. i sat there anxious and depressed as hell, waiting for it to all be over. i wanted it to end. i met some people i should’ve avoided. i cried about people who didn’t matter. i laughed in the face of the people who loved me. i was a mess. i told myself time would heal everything, and i blamed everything on myself. he left because i’m annoying. she stopped coming around because i didn’t open up enough. he left because i opened up too much.
but then, all my pain and all my sorrow somehow found its way to writing. i don’t know where i would be without it, if i’m honest. its saved my life so many times. times i wanted to hurt myself — i wrote. i kept writing until i no longer wanted to hurt myself. i wrote about all the turmoil that sat dormant in my heart. i wrote about all my experiences and heartache that led me to want to die. i wrote about all my breakups and makeups. i wrote letters to those who hurt me when i realized it wasn’t my fault. realizing that is was never my fault was the greatest realization i had ever come across.
suddenly, i wasn’t hurting anymore. the friends who left were replaced by nicer, kinder, and better people. the boyfriends who broke my heart ended up being a joke — i was just too young to realize. the people who i thought made too deep of cuts to be forgiven, ultimately were. i opened my heart and my mind to people i never thought i would give the light of day — we’re friends now. i am now okay.
for all those that need reassuring, you will get past this. just like i did. just like your brothers and sisters and parents and cousins have. i encourage you to stand up a little taller today, and find something that you enjoy doing. take your pain and heartache and throw it all back at the world.
you are strong.
and hold on a little longer.