Here’s something funny. Maybe you can get some humor from it. This is a happy suicide note! As I write this, I’m not about to kill myself. I’ll be laughing with my friends online in a few minutes. Life will go on for a little while longer now. So, if you’re one of the strangers reading this when I first publish it, don’t feel sad for me. In fact, just keep assuming that the time never came. After you read it, just watch some cat videos and move on.
It’s strange, I know. I do want to explain a little. When it is actually time to die, I end up too weak to say anything. I’m left a pained animal. A carnal husk. I lose words, I lose feeling, I lose myself- I lose everything, and anything, and all of it- except my need to escape. I have to write this note before it’s time. It’s like time travel. A time-traveling, happy suicide note!
Enough disclaimers. No one enjoys these notes- at least, not the people who they are intended for.
The reason I’m dead is simple.
I was sick.
The reason itself is simple. But so, so hard to accept. Depression is curable! This is only temporary! I can be happy again!
And I won’t deny those things are true. Sure, depression is curable. But it is cyclical. It is temporary! But only for a while. And the potential happiness I could have is nothing compared to the pain that accompanies it.
Let’s be real. I was sick beyond depression. I was broken. Fundamentally broken. If you were close to me, you knew this. While I think other autistic people can live fulfilling lives, I also think every autistic experience is unique. And I can say that, as the person who has to experience this, the strain I have is not humane to force someone to live with. Maybe if I was born at a different time, things could have been different. But as of now, there’s no cure. No relief. And no world I can exist- truly exist- in.
We all die. It isn’t fair. It never is. And it hurts to lose people you love. If there was anything I could do to not make this painful for the people around me, I would. Feel all the things you need to feel. Sadness, anger, spite. Hate me, if it’s what you need. There’s nothing you can feel, or say, or do, that will displease me. My only wish is that you try to heal, in whatever way you need to, for however long it takes. You deserve to.
I’m not saying specific goodbyes. I want to. You deserve the attention. But I’m already having a hard time writing to this point, and there are no words I could say even at my highest level of performance that could describe how much I love my family and my friends. Also, even though it would be intended to thank and comfort you, I feel like reading your name in a suicide note would be traumatizing, and this is traumatic enough, isn’t it? So I’ll keep it vague.
To all of you: Thank you for everything you did for me. Just because I had to die doesn’t mean that the things you did for me were meaningless. We all die, and you still made my life better. You mattered. Immensely. Thank you. I have hope that one day the world will turn into something that would have been livable for me, one where people like me can be happy. Not anytime soon. Obviously. But someday. And it will be because of all the good people like you put into this world. I won’t leave this world without remembering you.
I appreciate you. I love you. Goodbye.