My Suicide Note

Dear family,

People think it’s funny to make fun of you. For some weird reason, it entertains them to laugh at others’ differences. Especially the kids in my school. If I was born with genes that made me a tall girl, how is that under my control? If I have curly hair that is as messy as their parents’ lives, then again, how is that under my control? My classmates had called me with different names, things like ‘the giraffe girl, stormy hair, the girl with frog eyes, etc.’ These names have stayed with me until pretty much now. These things hurt me a lot, I have cried uncountable times over these stupid names.

Over the years, you all abandoned me. My favorite cousin turned into someone else. Ed, my brother, who had always protected me, left for university. And the hardest one among all, the person who once I called a best friend, Lily. We had been best friends for almost 8 years when she decided to throw a party without inviting me!

Lily, can you imagine how hard it was for me to be abandoned by you? My only friend, the only one whom I had counted on. And all you did was giving me pointless excuses, “I wanted to invite you, but you had flu. I didn’t want to have the attention for myself.” I cried a lot that night, and you knew that, but you didn’t apologize!

Mom, dad, I don’t know how you two did not notice that I was sinking. Didn’t you see the blackness under my eyes due to the lack of sleep? Or you were too busy being worried about Ed, who was living in another city? Didn’t you notice that I was eating less and losing weight? I think not.

I tried different activities and different treatments just to fit in, but none of them worked. This world can be a terrible place, people can be so evil. You just want to stand up and be on your feet, but someone comes and pushes you so hard. You don’t only fall down, you break with such falls. And while being on the ground, you leave parts of you there, parts that motivate you to want to live another day.

Since I didn’t have any friends, I kept a journal where I wrote about everything. For the past three years, I kept this journal with me everywhere I went. One day, while lying down on my bed staring at the ceiling -my favorite activity- I had a notification, I received a message on messenger. That was more than awkward, no one had sent me anything for a while, even Ed, my only brother, had stopped texting me. I received countless photo messages of my journal and the writings in it. The writings in this journal were my deepest and darkest thoughts. Soon after, the kids in school started calling me with other names, ‘psychopath, crazy, etc.’ It was as if the things weren’t tough enough, as if they didn’t have enough nicknames to call me with. It felt like I was undressed in public and trying to cover myself, but it wasn’t working, all eyes remained on me.

With this journal being out, I felt my life was over, why to live among those monsters? Being in school was like being in the middle of the ocean and not knowing how to swim, that is why I stopped going to school. Mom, after that, you and dad started asking me things, but I shut you both out. I was at the point of not wanting to get any help, it was too late.

I came to a conclusion. I am not the CRAZY one, I am not the PSYCHOPATH, they are these things they have called me. If they are mentally fine, why would they do all these awful things to me? Why do they make me feel insecure about myself? They are the little things they say that matters, like, ‘you look pretty today’ or you can say ‘you look awful today.’ They take the same amount of energy, but their desire to feel like they are better than you make them show the monsters inside them. Affecting the lives of sensitive people like me.

I feel like I’m in a space suit and the oxygen is cut off on me, no air to breathe. I’m trying to breathe, but my lungs can’t get enough air. My brain is losing control on my body, my feelings are taking charge. My chest feels so heavy, my body glued to the floor. I wanna stop the feeling, but it seems like there is only one way. The way my depression pulls me looks like a black hole pulls everything around. It feels so strong, I can’t save myself from it. Ending it is so easy, yet, parts of me love life.

In the end, I want to say sorry for my family for what my action will make them go through, but I won’t be honest. I no longer feel anything, let alone being sorry. Reasons why I’m leaving this note are to let you know that I could’ve been saved if you had decided to help me sooner, but you were all too busy with your lives that you couldn’t see what I was going through. And for you to know why I did what I did. I want you to go on with your lives as if I have never existed. As for my classmates, I have one request, don’t turn some else’s life into a living hell, please.

Farewell.

Writer’s note: This piece of writing is based on fiction. I just want for people to realize that every small action we do can affect someone’s life greatly, therefore, let’s try to do better and treat people nicely.