An open letter to anyone who has ever given a damn about me.
I am sick of living. Honest to god, I am. People tell me – “you are loved. You are important. Your life is worth something. It gets better. I’d miss you if you were gone.”
The thing is, none of those things are my problem. I know I am loved, and that I’m important. I know exactly how beautiful and talented and brilliant I am. I know I have so many valuable things I could potentially contribute to the world. I know I’d be missed.
Every day I think about all the hearts I would break if I took my own life. I don’t think I have ever broken a heart before. It’s not something I ever want to do. It’s something that I would do anything in my power to avoid.
I dedicate all of myself to staying alive so I don’t hurt you – you, whoever you are.
My family likes to call my ~selfish~ because I can’t “give” in the same way that they do. To them, “giving” means offering to bake cookies or smiling at the fucking neighbors or doing things for people that nobody asked me to do. But for me, to “give” is to make sure nobody has to find my body, or clean up my blood, or plan my funeral, or grieve my death. The greatest gift I can ever give anyone – the purest and most desperate display of my love for anyone at all – is staying alive.
And it’s hard. It takes so much out of me, and every time I think I’m running out of energy, I think of the hole I’d rip in everyone’s life if I gave in to exhaustion and I find just a little more. This is why I can’t be like everyone else. I can’t go out. I can’t take too many credits in school. I stay in bed half the day. I keep to myself. I can’t get a job. I can hardly convince myself to leave my room if I don’t have to. I conserve as much energy as I possibly can and I channel it all into not dying. And nothing hurts more than the fact that so many people chalk it up to laziness. My mom calls me “trifling.”
And I just want to scream – doesn’t anyone understand the incredible gift I am giving? Doesn’t anyone APPRECIATE the pain I am enduring for them?
I’m so, so, so tired.
Not sad. Not angry. Not depressed. I’m tired.
And I know that one day I’m going to run out of energy. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next year. Maybe, if you guys are lucky, I’ll last another decade or two. But one day I am going to need to do what’s best for me, and my one hope in life is that when I finally cave in, you can all find it in yourselves to be happy for me.
But right now I can’t bear to hurt the people who love me.