About Maddie: Maddie isn't her name, but it should be. She might be one of my coolest friends, but recently before I wrote this letter I found out that she was a cutter, something I'd only recently stopped thinking of doing. She's energetic and funny and nice, everyone loves her. It's not that I blame her, I know cutting is her way of 'releasing pain', I just don't like that she has to reduce to it. Maddie is a bad ass, but I dedicate this chapter to her in hopes of her, and any other cutter, will see. (P.S. I wrote this when I was feeling extremely suicidal, so excuse that please...)
Dear Maddie,
I know you don't like small talk, so I'll be honest. I am not a cool or great person, nor am I good at being a friend. I'm not use to having friends. And you, well, you're freakin' awesome. Your sense of humor is contagious, and I really like being able to consider you my friend. Don't you dare cry for me. I'm not really gone. You should know that much. I have a few wishes for you and for all my other friends. Never, ever, ever, pick up that knife or razor again, please. Please don't make yourself bleed and hurt yourself for whatever reason you might want to. Please. That's my only wish. You are too perfect in every way to hurt yourself the way you do.
You are one of the most greatest, nicest, prettiest friend I've ever seen or had. We may not be that close outside of school, and you may be going to a different school next year, and hell, I may die, but I still like considering you my friend.
You think I'm naive. You don't know that I understand how you feel. I'm afraid to tell you, or anyone for that matter, but I'm writing it here. I love the way you try to protect me. It makes me feel wanted, like you really care about me. I don't have the heart to tell you the truth. Yesterday, I saw cuts on your arms. I asked you what they were, even though I knew. I wanted to hear your answer. You told me they were nothing, laughed it off. It hurt me, yesterday, that you would lie to me. I know how much you must hurt inside. I know, I understand. But you don't know that. I hate knowing that I can do nothing to stop it. I'm defenseless, and you are a loaded gun, ready to fire. I am so so so sorry I didn't tell you before hand. Maybe you could relate, maybe you'd help. We could talk about it. But you think I'm innocent, and you want to shelter me, and thank you so much for that. I hate to tell you you're too late. But I have only one wish for you. Don't pick up that razor, or that knife, don't grab that rope or find the nearest bridge. Just please. If I can ask you anything, I want to ask you this because I know you are strong and I know you can do anything. Please.
Sincerely, the person who has hope for you all.
YOU ARE READING
One More Letter
RandomThis isn't a story, just a collection of letters to people. Sounds strange? Yeah I know. Let me tell you a little story: Once upon a time, there was me. I was very messed up, in many ways. I had anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts. But, then...
