Â this is pretty much what I would say…
First of all, I don’t think I can explain why I’ve done this so if you’re hoping to get that from this letter, just know I will probably disappoint you. Second, also know that I have always detested suicide letters. I think it’s a load because I know nothing I say is going to matter. The only reason I can think of for doing this is so that people canâ€™t ***** that â€œShe didnâ€™t even leave a noteâ€ – blah. As if it will make a difference. People will draw their own conclusions and forensic psychologists and the likes will pick it apart anyway. I expect some “expert” whom I’ve never met will analyze it and deduce that I’m a nut. I’m sure it will be found that I have at least one personality disorder (eye roll).
I wish you could be me. Maybe then you would understand. If you could be me for a day – and then go back to your own life, maybe you would understand. (Those I know think you already understand but I think being me would surprise you.)
If you could take what I say – for my word and thoughts – and not try to analyze it, you might understand me better. If you try, really try, to connect on an emotional level maybe you would be able to feel it… my anguish. Maybe you could feel the anxiety and know the resulting depression. Maybe you could feel the intensity and the depth in which I connect with everything and everyone around me. Maybe you would understand how tormented I am.
When I donâ€™t have anxiety, Iâ€™m pretty good at being rational. But when I have anxiety, itâ€™s like being shackled to the back of a speeding train that I cannot outrun. I wish you could feel it – my anxiety and depression. I promise it would bring you to a depth of pain that touches your soul in a way that youâ€™ll never want to experience it again.
I’ve pounded myself for a long time about how I should be able to snap out of this. To “grow up” and (to simply) not let things bother me. I blame myself and think I’m weak for not being able to do that. Even now. Even as I type – I feel like such a weak person. But, itâ€™s who Iâ€™ve always been and is how my brain chemistry works and I donâ€™t know how to â€˜fixâ€™ it. I struggle to communicate and end up isolating myself because of it.
If you could really understand all this and not just think you do, maybe your thoughts of me right now would be different and you would know that there wasn’t anything you (or anyone) could do to help me. You would see and understand what it’s like for meâ€¦ and that maybe I wasnâ€™t weak as much as I was helpless. Some things just “are” and there’s nothing anyone can do to change them.
Sigh. I know you can’t. Not now, but you will one day. You may be sick or just old and tired, but you’ll know. You’ll finally know what it’s like to feel so helpless and unloved and in so much pain that youâ€™ll to want death to come.
I think most people believe they have some reason to be angry when someone kills themself. I think that’s selfish. Why is it that people want others to stay when they are so miserable?
Here’s a thought: If you have an illness, people hate to see you suffer. I’ve heard people say, “Death would be the best thing for so and so.” But when you are depressed no one seems to understand. I get that depression isn’t a terminal illness… but maybe it is. I mean, how long does one have to suffer with depression and anxiety before it begins to affect their overall health? Just because it’s an emotional illness, doesn’t mean it’s any less chronic or painful.
People think that death is only for the sick or old, but you have to understand… it’s not about death. It never is. It’s about life. Or, more so, the quality of life. And no one has any right to judge someone else’s quality of life. No one can possibly know the totality of someone’s thoughts and (most especially) experiences. They weren’t there to see, hear, smell, taste, feel, or know what someone else has experienced. And… no one can imagine, either.
Sigh. I’m sorry Iâ€™ve disappointed and hurt you. I really am and if I could have stayed, I would have. Just for you. Just for those of you who actually feel an ounce of pain over my loss. You have to understand though…
Life is a journey. Right now, as I write this, I don’t know how life all started. I don’t have that answer. I don’t know if it’s about a God or a Big Bang or something else. I don’t. You don’t. You might think you do, but until you get there… you won’t. I’ll know but I won’t be able to tell you. Maybe I am quiet. Maybe I am just… dead. Quiet.
Honestly though, I hope not. I hope there is a God and that he knows my pain. My fear. My hurt. My regret. I hope He (or Whomever) forgives me (and so do you).
If I could talk to you now, I’d tell you not to be sad. You’re still here. You can do it. You are doing it. You’re lucky. You can’t say you’re not. Everyone thinks they have it tough… and they do. It’s just that for whatever reason, some people aren’t as resilient as others. You’re resilient. You’re at Zen with life.
You see, there those of us who can’t be at Zen. No matter how hard we try (FYI, I smile as I write this, so it’s okay), Zen just doesn’t work for us. For me or people like me. It doesn’t matter why. I sometimes think (smiling) that some people are here to be targets. To be the ones everything seems to happen to. The ones who struggle and fight back… for so long.
If you believe in God, then, maybe He makes us that way. Sometimes, I think He (smile) makes certain people to teach everyone else. What if…? What if that was my reason… for being here? Just to affect others?
Yeah, I know. It’s a crazy thought. (And, I’m sure there’s some psycho-babbly something in that statement because it sure felt loaded when I typed it).
So, you always have to remember, the world works the way it does because it’s at Zen. It works because everything in it (and not in it) is just the way it’s supposed to be.
This is supposed to be.
(I feel like this is where I should tell everyone how much I love them, blah, blah, blah but you and they should know that. Because I do. And, I’m really sorry I’ve hurt you.)
So, (smile)… See you on the Other Side.