I'm sorry. That's all I can say. Sorry to everyone who ever cared for me, and sorry to those who didn't. I never meant to hurt anyone, I promise.
I'm writing this letter because I can't take it anymore. The weight of the little world I created for myself is too much to bear. I've tried so hard to fit in, to be someone that everyone can like, to be someone that my parents can be proud of, but all I ended up was being someone that I wasn't.
There was a time that I thought that I should always be myself. Despite having been taught that since birth, I also realized that phrase was far easier for some people to follow than others. I was a successful student, but I couldn't ever really say I was as successful on the social scene. When others would talk to me, I would feel strange. It was a kind feeling to interact with others, but they would never come back to actively talk again. That feeling ended up hurting me more than if I just carried on as a loner, and it felt as if the world was taunting me. I couldn't blame them for not really wanting to seek me out again. I was awkward, I didn't have a sense of boundaries, and I was just plain weird. Even then, I wanted that sense of friendship that the other kids had. I doubt anyone really had any contempt for me, but I wanted to be wanted rather than tolerated. That time old adage came into my thoughts again, but it was countered with a biting critique that it was just what people who were able to stand on that pedestal of "normalcy" could say, because they were happy with who they were. I, in a now realized lapse of hindsight, proceeded to try and be like the 'social birds' and 'normal people' I envied rather than myself.
I've always felt like an outsider, even- no, especially in a crowd. This did not change when I started wearing the mask, except that I could be part of the crowd. I could and did talk to others, and I did make friends, but was it me or the person I thought I wanted to be? With that constant thought, I subsequently thought that nobody really knew me despite how easily I talked to others, and I felt like I never knew them either. Worse yet, the thought in my mind that belies it even now is that most-nobody cared to, and maybe it was because I didn't really care about them. Maybe I'm not giving either of us some credit, but I suppose neither was enough if I'm writing this letter. It just never felt quite right even as I was talking to them, almost like I was pestering rather than chatting despite there being no real cues that explicitly imply such. I always thought that they didn't really care until the going got rough, and that propelled this cycle of isolation and self-pity amongst hidden detest and envy for those around me that were oblivious to a struggle I hid from them. Because of that, I had nobody to rely on on a deeper level, and I couldn't ever bring myself to show anything but the image I became in the case I risk losing even more.
I could only live off of the mask that was slowly erasing me, and I refused to ever take it off in fear of the real me that I killed. Right when those thoughts hit, I wondered if I stayed true to myself that I could eventually gain that type of real relationship I wanted. Did I not give it enough time, did I make a mistake? Those thoughts were then eclipsed by the reality that I was at least talking to people now, even if I never felt connected to them. I stuck by those guns, and hat's the vicious cycle I found myself trapped in for as long as I can remember. What I didn't count on was that with each cycle, I'd become more and more disillusioned with the world around me until I couldn't tell what was real anymore.
I don't know what the future holds. However, I do know that I can't face it anymore. I don't care if things can get better, I don't care if they get worse either. I don't want to, I can't, live on just for another gamble like the one that lost the full house for me. I don't want to face the constant pressure of trying to be someone I'm not. I don't want to face the disappointment and rejection of never being enough. I don't want to pretend to be strong when I'm too weak to even let myself admit so.
I wish things could have been different. I wish I could have trusted those that cared for me, and I wish that I could have confided in them. There's so many things I can wish for, but I'm facing the reality of what I've done to myself and those around me now.
To my classmates, I'm sorry that I never fit in. I'm sorry for always trying so hard to be someone I'm not. I'm sorry for putting on a mask every day and pretending like everything was okay when it wasn't.
To my parents, I'm sorry for disappointing you. I know that you had high hopes for me, and I know I didn't live up to them. I'm sorry for not being the daughter you wanted me to be.
To my best friend, I'm sorry for never telling you the truth. I'm sorry for hiding behind countless masks and forcing you into an impossible goal of reaching the true me that long died. You were the only one I knew for sure that cared about me, and I let you down. I hope that you can't find it in your heart to forgive me, for that kindness would be better spent on someone who deserves it.
To myself, I'm sorry for denying you a right to exist in this world. I'm sorry for warping you beyond recognition and never being content with you even as you always tried the best you could. I hope that in the next world, you can finally find the peace that we could never find in this one.
With dubious apologies,
XXXXX XXXXXXXXX
