Author: soft-spoken PM
This is part of many suicide letters. Why is it on here? Because I'm thinking of turning them into something after I add more. Maybe it'll even turn into something humorous in a twisted way. I don't know for now.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,250 - Reviews: 1 - Updated: 05-15-07 - Published: 05-12-07 - id: 2360653
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I'm feeling desperate – should I let go, now that nobody loves me? Whatever, my mother loves me, but doesn't every mother love their child? Yes. Well, perhaps this peripheral thinking of mine is a waste in my brain. Perhaps we're all meant to feel heartbreak to learn from our mistakes, to find somebody who is truly going to accept us for who we are, after we've learned all we can learn and there's no turning back. But what is this crap I feel?
Ever since I turned twelve years old things started going downhill. That year, I spent my Christmas at somebody else's home with my mother, while my father was at home (or not even, I don't even know where he was) and I didn't get to give presents, nor receive any (not that that was even on my mind) and all I could think about was the blood on the corner of my mother's delicate lips, two nights before. I was shaken. I didn't let my shivers and trembles show though. I had to be a rock, for my mother had been one for me all her life and she was suddenly beginning to slowly crack and I didn't want to see the crumble.
I turned thirteen. I went to a new high school (after jumping from elementary school to elementary school – six or seven to be exact, how my parents couldn't make up their mind about where we lived, I don't know. Perhaps it was the fact that they kept separating then finally deciding they had to be "good parents for me" – look how well that turned out). Most people described me as a funny, energetic, bright & intelligent, young girl. Even got into a little bit of modeling, but how, I'll never know. I still haven't learned to love myself all the while people around me couldn't see inside myself. They didn't know what was inside. Just a blackness, in a never-ending hole that nobody could reach the bottom to, just only myself.
I started the slashing when I was thirteen, and now I'm almost seventeen and I've only slowed down. Was I only made for self-destruction, as that soon turned into destroying all those around me? I never wanted it to be that. All I wanted it was an unconditional love. None of that teenage bullshit. The only thing that truly kept me going was mister Icy Blues who was led to me by beautiful Grace Tanner who passed away in 2001. Grace and I had been best friends since I first came to Canada with my family in 1994. She was the only friend I could depend on as I jumped from school to school, we still remained friends. She was wise beyond her years and she didn't play games that the other children did with other people's minds. No gossip, no fakeness, no rude behavior. She was beyond real. Beyond anything and anyone. One of a kind. When she passed, she led me to the beholder of the notorious Icy Blues for she was a devoted catholic who had eyes so scarily similar to Him. We met at the catholic elementary school, of which I only attended my last year of elementary school. I was attached from the first gaze into his eyes. It was so strange. I asked Grace "is this what you're leading me to? Is he supposed to be good for me like you were to me?" I questioned this throughout the years of knowing him. Friends soon became best friends and a year and a half ago, I found my answer. He loved me, and I loved him. Grace was leading me him and he was supposed to fish me out of my destruction. Silly me, I wasn't as bright as Grace. I didn't know it took more than a mature, beautiful human to bring me out of my darkness. I had to do work too.
Anyway, doesn't matter. I fucked it all up. I let Grace down and now mister Icy Blues, well, he doesn't even talk to me or look at me anymore. Should I just go to join my guardian angel, for I failed her, should I not join her? Don't get me wrong, this isn't over lost love – I wanted to end things since I was thirteen, I just failed at explaining things well. It's hard to explain things to somebody who isn't inside of you and hasn't seen you grow, or fall in my case, since many years. I've wanted to end things since I was thirteen, although for my mother dearest who had spent all of her life (since I was born) for me. She did everything for me. And she and I were alone, together. Father didn't do shit all, so how could I ditch her after all she's given me? So I lived. And when mister Icy Blues came along, he gave me strength and shards of happiness, it's just now that he's gone… all I have is my mother and second, third, fourth – and many more, helpings of life as dinner. I was full – I am full. What more is there for us?
Should I leave tonight?