To my family and friends; I wish I could tell you more.
Picture, your a gay teenage boy, bullied everywhere you go. Your best friend died last week because of drug overdose; and that's not the worst part. You're depressed and your parents don't even bother to ask what's wrong. They think you're living a perfectly normal life, and that you just prefer to spend your time alone in your room reading, rather than hanging out with friends, but actually inside that room, you are cutting yourself all over your body, and writing your suicide note. Yeah. Welcome to my fucked up life.
It looks like I've grabbed your attention so I might as well tell you my whole life story. Just kidding. You might be a stalker. I will tell you the basics. My name is Reed Oakland. I'm 17 years old. I was born and still currently live in New York, New York. I hate living in this big city. There's never quiet, and the one thing I need is quiet. I'm a quiet kid, and I've never really been obligated to sharing my feeling. I only openly told someone I felt down was when I was three.
You see, I was born a twin, her name was Isabelle. Reed and Isabelle. Cute? Right? No. We were conjoined twins and she died when we were three. She couldn't do anything on her own. She had millions of diseases and she couldn't survive any more. She was detached from me on my third birthday. She didn't survive. Yeah, sounds awful right? It gets worse. Due to lack of support from Isabelle, I now can't use the entire left side of my body. Yeah! Another reason to get bullied!
Now, I'm a bright kid, so I go to private school for advanced learning. You would think because it is a private school, that everyone and anyone is friends. Yeah, well my only friend Milo, who was my best friend just died of drug overdose. And the thing is, I let him take drugs. He was depressed and needed help, I thought drugs might help him, but I didn't think he'd go overboard. I have no one now. I'm alone and forever alone. The only thing that comforts me is books. It helps me hide my sexuality.
I found out I was gay in sixth grade. Let me remind you, in sixth grade everyone was friends. All of my friends had girl friends, and they all had their first kisses. "Oh Sophie is soooo cute!" or "No Ashley is cuter!!" was the hot topic of the year. One of my friends and I were the only kids left. He was new to school that year, so we adopted him into our friend group. One day I was hanging out with him and we went to the movies. We watched the movie we laughed, we had fun. After the movie, I looked him in the eyes, lent in and kissed him.
That friend was Milo. Ever since then, we've been best friends. He was the only one who ever knew. Milo was bisexual, but we never felt comfortable dating each other. I was never comfortable with my sexual orientation. Ever since Milo died, I have. So about a week right? I even have a boyfriend already. Haha! No.
I haven't told anyone, I mean anyone about my sexuality since Milo. He was the only one who knew. I am still searching for the perfect boy. I hope to find him some day, and that's when I'll tell my parents I'm gay. Sorry to get lovey dovey on you there. If you continue following me around like a stalker, you can find out, I am never like that. Now lets continue on the journey of my life. Gay, best friend just died, born a twin. What else is there to me?
Lets see... I have red hair and another reason to be bullied. I'm the only ginger in the entire school. You heard me. Only ginger. "Hey Weasley!" "Did you know that redheads have no soul?" and they keep on coming. Every day. The teachers even help by calling me "red" in class when they don't know my name. My life is shitty. I know. You feel bad. Don't my life has been this way forever. I don't even recognize the fact that I'm sad all the time because I'm never happy. When I walk inside my house, I put on that fake smile and tell my parents that my day was great!
They don't even know that when they go to sleep I'm up late writing my suicide note. I've been working on it for years. It's sad. I've been wanting to die for years and I can't find a way to tell people about it when I'm finally dead. And I say that in a happy way. The only time I feel happiness is when I'm cutting. The pain I receive when pushing the knife into my wrist is the best feeling ever. Blood oozes everywhere and it makes me feel happy that I can watch myself suffer.
I plan every day how I am going to kill myself. Will I hang myself from the ceiling fan? Will I take a bullet to my head? Will I take too many pills at once? Every day is a different scenario until I build up the confidence that I am ready to do this. I've tried to kill myself before, but I always stop myself. I always think that maybe there is someone out there that would care if I died.
Now that Milo died, I don't think there is. Milo was the only one that fucking cared about me. He knew that I was going to die young and he was okay with that. He knew that I was living the worst possible life, and that I might have an opportunity in heaven or hell. Either would do for me, as long as I'm not living this war zone.
I need a new opportunity for life. I need to be happy. I can't stand being bullied every single day. I can't fight back. I can't stand up for myself. This life is awful, and I'm living in it. I wish other people could feel my pain. I know that other people get bullied, but they can fight back, they can stand up for themselves. Their parents know that they are hurt and need help. Mine don't and I can't tell them. It wouldn't even hurt them to find me dead on the ground. They would just read my note and go on with their life. If that other person killed himself, their parents would be traumatized. They wouldn't be able to go on with life. My parents don't even care. I can't live this life anymore. I can't do it.
I'm ready.
