Rest Your Love On Me {Tradley Story}

Bradley's Letter

September 28, Chicago

Iris, darling,

You'll be the one who finds that letter and I'm really sorry to do this to you. If you're reading this, it means your curly, your baby, your Bradley's gone. Don't look for me, you won't see me anymore, but I promise I'll look after you. If you're sad then look at the stars, I've gone to join them.
Please don't cry, sweetheart. I hate to see you sad, but I had to do this. I'm truly sorry, but you must read this letter to the end.

You're probably gonna wonder why I did that? I want to tell you right now, it's absolutely not your fault, okay? You had nothing to do with it.
The reason is, I can't take it anymore. I can't stand hiding the truth from you anymore. I can't take it anymore. I can't take any more of this. What have I done to deserve so much misery? I'll tell you the reasons why I had to end it today.

You know my father meant everything to me. Ever since he died, I've been in a constant state of flux. He was my pillar, my example, my hero, my father. I miss him a lot, you know. Sometimes at night I dream about him. About the times we shared when we were together. And then the day he died. He was beaten to death right in front of me. Bunch of homophobes. But you might want the details, don't you? 

Dad and I were out for ice cream. It was two months after I told him I was bisexual. We were talking quietly about my relationship with Jacob. He told me to be careful with him, because he could play a double game, because he was older than me, God knows I should have listened to him. And we walked past a bunch of guys - five in total - they heard us. And they followed us as we came to an alley. One of them grabbed me by the collar of my sweater and started hitting me. My dad tried to defend me, but they threw three on him. He tried to defend himself, but they were too strong. They hit him so hard that his heart couldn't take all the pain. He had a heart attack. 

They beat me up until some guy walking by threatened to call the cops, made them leave. And this guy called 911. I had six broken ribs, my right arm and left cheekbone. I also had to have surgery to remove my spleen because I was hemorrhaging. I was almost dead when I got to the emergency room. And when I woke up, I heard the doctor tell my mother that my father had died. Even if his heart hadn't failed, he would have died. One of his ribs had punctured his lung and he would have drowned in his own blood. And he had a brain haemorrhage. No chance of survival.

Then the story with Jacob. I think you already know the whole story. He wanted to force me to jump the gun and have sex, but I didn't want to. And that's how it takes us to the next problem.

Self-Harm.

I started about a month after my father's funeral. Initially it was only on the thighs and no more than five strokes. But then I became more and more addicted. My cuts added up on my wrist, thighs and belly. I don't know how to describe it to you, but that delicious pain was beautiful. You feel pain on the spot and seconds later, you relax. You see your blood flowing and you have the power to control the flow. You finally take control of your body, it's... I don't know how to describe it.

But this exquisite pain has gotten me into trouble. After Jacob threw everything away before leaving, the other students harassed me. At first, it was just teasing. Then I was insulted. The beatings added to that. I was picked on in high school, but also on the Internet. Young people of our age are really stupid. Seriously, instead of wondering why people do that, they make fun. I'm still looking for their brains that have been missing for many years.

I fell into a depression, as you know. You know the loss of loved ones, the stress of school, the harassment and all that, that's what. Besides, you know how I get when I'm depressed. And you know what, I'd like to say thank you for the fucking depression.