Over the years I have written different versions of my suicide note.
On the nights I almost took my life, I always deleted or threw away the note
Rather than sending it or leaving it for someone.
I assumed the words would just make them uncomfortable.
Too often I was crying to be heard,
Too often I was ashamed.
Sometimes it was a flip switch without a trigger,
Sudden and not always arriving.
I would aim for a long night's sleep after years of insomnia.
I would reluctantly resurrect at sunrise with my palms shaking, my mind still consuming itself.
Sometimes it was careful planning.
Drafting the note, and inspecting the house for beams that can hold my weight.
A game of hocus pocus when the clock strikes the convenient time.
My mother thinks suicide is insanity
So I learned to hide it and blend into the wallpaper.
I fixed anchors to my wrists to make them anything but damaged.
I built masks and realized it's safer behind a smile.
YOU ARE READING
seasonal deaths
General FictionUji is a lost young soul searching for himself. He comes off as confident, a perfectionist, a beautiful disaster to those around him but inside, he faces his inner demons almost daily. You notice traces of sadness, detachment and suicidal tendencie...
