Why do you hate me? Why do you say you care but constantly push me away? Why do you always try to take away the things in my life that make me the happiest? Why am I such a ” hoe, whore, bitch ” in your eyes? I know we all say things when were mad, but there’s only so much I can take. You are so mean, so cold, so angry. I tried to mend what we had, but you refused. I don’t want any of it anymore. I just need my answers so I can go about my life. I can’t take the pain of not knowing. I’m sorry I was born. I’m sorry I am here, living & breathing. You are the reason why I feen to feel the cold blade against my skin, but I refuse. I refuse to let you bring me down again. Ha, who am I kidding? Because of you I wish I died that night I tried to kill myself.
Fuck you, you’re slut of a daughter. HA.
You remember our senior year of high school? On yearbook staff? We were sitting in the corner of that back room, nearest the door. And like typical yearbook staffers, we were not working on the yearbook. We were just chatting, like we always did, and somehow suicide came up. And I don’t know what made you say it, but you said, “If you ever kill yourself, I’m going to punch your corpse at the funeral.”
It was at that moment, when I was 17 years old, that I realized — for the first time since I was ten and made the plans — that I could not kill myself when I turned 18. That it would be a travesty to those who know and love me. I had never known it before then. Before that day, mere months before my eighteenth birthday, the plan had been to off myself on the 22nd of December. And it would have been so easy.
But you, Kiley, you made such a huge impact on my life and how I viewed it that day. I don’t know if I ever told you, but I know I should have. We are no longer close and I don’t believe you feel so strongly about my death as you once did, but I owe you the greatest thank you. Thank you.
I forgive you. You broke my heart countless times, you made me cry, made me doubt myself, and left me for someone else. But, in the process you showed me the meaning of family, of what it means to have a home, and what it takes to love myself. I just hope that you can find this out for yourself before you lose yourself too much…to the hate, to the drugs, to whatever it was that made you leave. I pray that it doesn’t take hitting rock bottom for you to realize what it is you’re doing to your family and friends.
We love you, come back…
Stop. Don’t fall back into this hole you’re letting yourself get into again. The self-injury, the OTC drug abuse, the starvation. You’re worth so much more than this. You’re a strong and beautiful young woman, and if you stop letting yourself believe it, you’ll be that greasy, scarred, weak mess again. And you do not want that. Remember that.
Dear all of you,
I’m a selfish coward.
I’m taking the easy way out, and I can’t imagine how much it will hurt you. I don’t deserve to live, and I can’t live this way anyway. It’s all over now.
I love you, and I’m sorry. There’s nothing you could have done. I hope you’ll understand.
Please do two last things for me.
And remember me.
All my love.
If any readers are feeling hopeless, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK. There is always hope for a better tomorrow.
Dear Radiohead and Thom Yorke,
For years I have been riddled with crippling depression and suicidal thoughts. I have laid in my bed, silently, unmoving, for hours, days, too sad to do anything. Your music, your countless songs, so powerfully sad, have helped me through those times. When I lay in my bed like that, I can find enough strength to play OK Computer or In Rainbows. And that may be the only thing I can find the strength to do, but it’s something. Songs like “Videotape” don’t make me feel better, not by a long shot, but they do make me feel. And that’s a huge step. Thank you.
You’re 19 today. It’s been a full year since you vowed to kill yourself, and you’re still here. Happy birthday.