story of my Shadow

Dear Nobody,

This is who I never was. I was never pretty. No boy looked at me twice in school. I didn't strut into classes wearing a miniskirt and a tight shirt. I walked around in worn cargo pants and loose t shirts with an old jean jacket around my waist. I never wore makeup. What would have been the point? No boy ever would have ever looked at the odd loner girl. I never liked boys anyway.

I was never popular. I was never like those girls who seem perfect, you know who they were at your high school too. Not like I ever wished I was one of them. Who wants to be perfect? It can't be that great. I know they weren't perfect. But they were more perfect than me. I know no one can be everything. But I wanted to be something. When I realized I wasn't anything, I figured I'd rather be nothing at all than nothing special. It sucks that I couldn't ever fill all their expectations. I'll never go to college. I'll never get a job. I'll never get married. I'll never have a life. Ah well, all that stuff is probably overrated anyway. They weren't for me. I was stupid to think I could ever have those things. Ha, see, I was wrong again. Doesn't that make you smile too?

This is who I never was. I was never funny. No one ever laughed at my jokes. Except maybe out of pity, or scorn. I was never adventurous and exciting. My idea of fun was staying in my room alone watching tv, or surfing the net. I know, you think I'm a loser. I never did have many close friends. The one potentially good friend I did have, I pushed away. I decided he didn't need to be hanging around someone like me anymore. Do you think that's arrogant? He would have figured out what I was sooner or later. I did him a favor by letting him know that early. I've never been the type to have a boyfriend anyway, so it was definitely for the best.

The girl I never was is dead. By being who I am now, I killed her. I wish I could bring her to life. Maybe I can trade. Maybe I can trade my life for my Shadow. Her life would be better anyway. She'd know how to talk to people. She'd care about things the right way. And not just because you think you have to. She'd just be better than me. I think she'd be smart. She wouldn't just pass the test, or get good grades. She'd do something with that knowledge. She'd do something good for the world. And she'd help others. And that would make her happy. She'd be loved by everyone. This girl would be as close to perfect as you could get. She wouldn't be me. She would live a happy life, knowing she was a caring person with lots of good qualities. And people who care about her.

She'd have the life I could never have. She's the me that never could have been. I'm jealous of her. Because she doesn't exist, she's perfect. She never has to conform to the real world. Cause that's what hurts the most. Pretending you’re something you’re not just to fit in, or having to curb your enthusiasm just because you’re afraid of being laughed at.

I don’t know if you know what it’s like. Feeling like no one’s there to help you. I asked my Shadow what she thought it was like, and all she gave me was a blank stare, so I’ll try to enlighten you. Feeling alone, completely alone, is kind of like falling from a cliff into the ocean. You look down, and see nothing’s there, only the water. You feel the cold ocean breeze, smell the tangy salt. Nothing is there to hold you up, keep you from falling, keep you from crashing into the rocks below you. Then the jump, straight down into the water. If you’re lucky, you’ll land in the water. That rush when you hit the waves, that feeling that your whole world has been changed and turned upside down. You’re kicked around and swept up in the tide. The panic that sweeps over you as you kick frantically, trying to find the surface, trying not to let out your breath. The icy water, freezing your lungs, making it hard to think past the cold. The water’s so murky you can’t see a thing, can’t see if you’re about to hit a rock or something with a stinger and sharp teeth. You know it’s just you and the waves, a fight to see who’ll win, and the sea has been there much longer than you have. You know that you only have one chance; you either swim or you die trying. And sometimes, it’s easier to just let go…

I never had a chance to prove myself. I wish I could say I liked my life sometimes, and maybe I did, but that's all over now. One person can only take so much. Eventually, you start to believe the bad things they say about you. You let it get to you, even though you know you shouldn't. And then you start to wonder, Am I really weird? Are they right? Should I be ashamed? If they keep it up long enough, or at just the right frequency so your ears are the only ones that hear it, it becomes the truth. It worms it way into your hardwiring, into your self. And it's hard believing everyone else is lying to you.

It's hard believing you're a bad person, but it'll become harder when your “friends” try to convince you otherwise. After you've started listening to the pollution that spills, seeps out of the mouths of the people around you. Their words are searching for something to contaminate. These people are not your friends, though they wear the same mask. They’re the ones from the sheep pen. The ones who are already packaged, processed meat on society's deli counter. The ones who can't stand seeing someone not sliced up and ready for market. I think all that plastic wrap must get to their heads after a while. It’s just another form of death; stagnation, rotting, suffocation. It’s all the same in the end.

This is who I never was. I was never happy with myself. The world told me I was nothing, and I believed it. I was never good at realizing things before it was too late. And I'm not starting now, because it's already too late. I was never myself. And that's my one secret, selfish regret. Not that it matters. This letter will sit on my desk collecting dust for several days before anyone notices I’m gone. I wonder how many anti depressants it would take…

I never saw that between all the 'nevers' and 'maybes' there was someone waiting to be found. It doesn’t matter what she could have been; it matters that she was there, that she was someone. I know what I never was. I don't know what I never could have been. I was never someone who believed in herself, so I never could have been someone, even if I hadn't decided to kill myself tonight. Now I'll never be nothing. Now I'll never be anything. That's not so scary, not when you know you couldn't or shouldn't ever have been. But the thought that should scare me and doesn't is that no matter how much they damaged me, no matter how much I think they hated me, I'm still making this choice on my own. It's not that I'm letting them win; I'm making it so they can't win. Cause you know they'll just get you in the end. So you should end it yourself, and take control of your life. That's my last act. That's the one and only thing I'll do to better my own life. End it. Because there's no point in living if you can't control anything about yourself or your life. There’s no point to anything if you’re not happy.

I'd like to say I tried my best. I'd like to say I was never the kind of person who took things for granted. I'd like to say a lot of things that aren't really true. In the end, all I can say is, I'm sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t everything you expected me to be. I’m sorry the world is slowly dying and no one cares. I’m sorry nothing is what it seems, and nothing is as good as it should be. I’m sorry to everyone who thought I was something I’m not. I’m sorry to my Shadow, to the person I never was and never could be. I’m sorry I wasn’t you. I’m sorry I gave up. I'm sorry I wasn't good enough.

I do have one hope. One tiny fragment of my original self, untainted by the cruelty of the world. I preserved it, in the hope that maybe some good will come out of… all of this. I wanted to tell you that in the end, what really matters is who you were, not what you did. All you’ll have left when you’re old and dying are your memories. And when those disappear, all that’ll be left is your last thought. My final thoughts will not make you feel any better. They will not leave you satisfied and pleasantly curious, like at the end of a good story. But I hope your last thought is, ‘I think I did good.’ I hope you live and have fun living. I hope that with your last energy, you smile, because you’re glad you had the chance to live. Most of all, I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re happy for my sake, for yours, and for everyone who dies with regret. I hope you don’t ever have to write one of these notes to someone you love. I’m sorry you had to read this one. I’m sorry I wasted all of my opportunities, all of my chances. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Farewell.

Remember me as you pass by

As you are now, so once was I

As I am now, so shall you be

Prepare for death, and follow me.