It’s been so long since I’ve written to you, written to myself. I wish I could guess the weeks or months, but my heart really knows it’s been a year or two. Who knows. What difference does it make, really. The reality of how much I have lost myself can’t hurt any more or less than it already does.
It would be a lie to say I haven’t thought about suicide in a while. It visits me every day, really. But it’s become more of a routine friend, like the cashier who smiles at me when he hands me my change, or the old lady who slips a few candies into my bag when I buy sweet potatoes from her sometimes.
I wonder if you can call this healing. I used to be so tired of what my life was, thinking I could only disappear and truly rest In peace forever by dying. But I’ve achieved it, I’ve gotten what I asked for; I see no one. No one sees me. And in return, I want to see no one. I cant even stand being stuck all day with myself, so it feels like I’m doing the world a favor for the day if I keep myself locked in. I cant stand it, but at least the stress is only on me. At least no one else has to pick up all the pieces of me.
And it goes on. And on. And on. And on. And on. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Wake up and wonder what I’m going to do today, already knowing what I’m going to do today. But at least I am only making a fool of myself to myself, no?
I don’t even have it in me to write out all the fiery words like I used to, even just for myself. I burned out long ago, and there isn’t even anyone to pull me back from it, because I’ve locked myself in. I go all day without using my fucking voice, literally. I open and close my mouth all day but it’s never my voice coming out. It’s only a given, if you’ve cornered yourself into a hole where nobody can talk to you.
I know. I know I’m stuck. I know I’m stuck and I’m not getting any better. I know I’m getting fucking worse. And you wanna know what the truth is? I don’t even fucking care. I mean, I do, I get worried. Really fucking worried. It keeps me up at night. But none of it is enough to keep me from not fixing it; I think fixing is for when you want to get better, and you think you have an answer. Well, I don’t have an answer. It’s not choosing between A or B, it’s not going through the theory or formula to end up with a conclusion or an epiphany.
You don’t want to die, I know you don’t. You’ve always just wanted to disappear because you thought it wouldn’t hurt anyone.
Well, now you’ve disappeared.
Do you like it?
