Dear Tubbo...

Letter #10

Dear Tubbo,

   I think it's finally over. I'm dying. I can feel it. I don't know if it's really fair for me to go out like this. I think a better punishment for all my wrongdoings would be to keep me alive and have to face them all. But hey, when the pits of hell are calling your name you can't really say no.

   It'll be any day now. Maybe it'll be before the final showdown between Manburg and Pogtopia. Seems like a bunch of fucking drama I don't want to be around for. Then again it's my fault this is all happening. I took everything too fucking far. And for nothing. It's not like you're gonna go back to school or try and live a normal life. Why would you? This is your home. With these people and amidst the chaos.

   A lot of people say that having children is one of the most joyous things this life has to offer. That's not fucking true. It's the scariest shit you'll ever go through. It's terrifying having someone's life in your hands. Especially when you know you aren't fit for the job. I wasn't meant to be a dad. And I'm sorry I didn't recognize this sooner.

   One final apology after all these years. I'm sorry for not being a good father. I'm sure I sound like a broken record but there's not really anything else to say. I always knew I was a shit dad but I always thought I could be better. That I could change and that you would know me as your dad. Maybe I could've been the father that wasn't there for me. That's just not how life works though, kid. Some people are just not cut out for being parents and I'm one of them.

   You've got a bright future ahead of you. Make fucking bank and get bitches. Insert some sappy quote on enjoying life or whatever.

   For what it's worth, I love you kid.

            - Schlatt