Dad, I’m sorry. I love you. Its weird writing in the past tense when Im not gone yet.
I was your project. I could never stick to anything. Please don’t blame yourself though. this was entirely my fault. My idea. It was what I wanted. I loved danciong with you when i was little
but I’m not little anymore
I know you stay awake some nights wondering why I cant have a passion for fitness, a passion for my own health like you do.
Mom please know that I felt loved. I love you and Dad so much. More than I can put into words. More than I can type into this damned box.
But I can’t stay anymore. I have to go home. I hope He’ll take me. You’ll know one day. I love you so much. I don’t want to die. But I need to.
Tell the house of blues what they missed out on.
Tell Radio City Music hall in New York that even though we were only ships in the night that I felt electric.
Tell the people that would have signed my record lable I’m sorry for the deficit, and that I hope they find an artist out there better than me, It wont be too hard.
Tell Mrs. Beers I loved her class.
TEll dr. shah that hes really nice and I appreciate him but that he really needs to get an adult blood pressure cuff.
I love you mom. Im so sorry
Im so so so so sorry
Im sorry I did this to you. Im sorry I did this to you IM sorry I did this to you Im sorry I did this to you Im sorry I cant find another way to go about things Im sorry IM sorry Im sorry Im sorry IM sorry
3 comments
What kind of dance did you and your dad do?
Which House of Blues said no?
How old are you? You wrote “I have to go home. I hope He’ll take me.” So you’re leaving home, feeling like a failure, to go to a better home? I’m 67. I get to say things like that.
I’ll give you this: you list real failures. You’ve done your best. There’s pain in the words you used, though. I feel like that a lot of the time – pretty much every time when I try to say something and nobody understands or cares that they don’t understand. In a while, I stop mourning and try something else. The whole thing is logged into a live/die set of data and consigned to the past. If nature hasn’t intervened, eventually I’ll decide its time to retire from life. One thing I know for sure is: if I decide to kill myself, I will not want to talk about it. If I need to talk about it, I’m talking from suffering, and may as well talk about that.
Your story is hidden in what you wrote, like it would be in a song. I don’t like the way yours ends. Who did you fail? Your father? From your letter, it sounds like you chose to take a chance, worked enough at what you were doing to meet with some success, but ultimately failed. You gave enough of yourself to the effort that you’ve come out of it with deep bruises on your soul. What father wouldn’t be proud of a kid’s doing that? People who believed in you? Backing anybody is always a gamble. You didn’t pan out. It was fun while it lasted, and you don’t owe them anything more. Who are you apologizing to?
As you said, you’re not little, so you get this right upside the head. Your mom’s alive. You’re talking about leaving her forever without saying goodbye. No, a note is NOT enough. Close to 60 years ago, my mom died unexpectedly, and that’s a good-sized part of why my whole life has been filled with madness. You cannot possibly imagine what deep wounds a sudden death leaves in the people left behind. Please try, at least once, to let her see how much you suffer. Don’t mention suicide, just the pain you’re in. Please give her a chance to love you.
Give her what you’ve given me. I read your words, and they hurt. Out of that pain, I’ve shaped words to give back to you. You have invited my compassion, and that is the hardest, finest gift one person can give another.