A Letter to Live For

Trigger Warning:
This story contains content about suicide.

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I STARED AT the screen of my laptop. My fingers froze above the keyboard. I had just finished writing my suicide letter on FutureMe.com. A website I always use to let out my feelings... but this time the letter felt final. It was addressed to my 25-year-old self—if I ever made it that far.

"Dear Future Jenny,

Today's the day I decided to end it all. We're 22, and I just can't handle it anymore. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you never got to live the life you wanted. I'm sorry you didn't make it. I hope you understand. But knowing me—knowing us—you probably already do. I'm sorry I couldn't be the version of you that lived. I'm sorry, I am weak. That I can't no longer hold on. That this pain is suffocating.

If you're even there, somewhere, reading this... I wonder what kind of person you became. Nalampasan mo ba lahat ng paghihirap na nararamdaman ko ngayon? Did you find happiness? Peace? Because right now, I can't see any of that. Alam mo, I tried. I tried to be strong, to hold on, but I couldn't do this anymore.

I wonder what you'll think of me, of the decisions I made. You'll probably think I'm weak for giving up. I wish I could have been stronger for you, but every time I look at myself in the mirror, all I see is someone who's already lost. I've been fighting for so long, and I'm tired of fighting. Ang hirap, sobra.

If you somehow receive this, maybe it's a mistake. Or maybe you survived in another universe. And if you exist, I hope you found the love I couldn't give myself. I hope the world was kinder to you than it was to me. Kasi right now, all I feel is emptiness. I don't see a future anymore. I'm sorry I couldn't make it long enough to become you, to see what life would have been like if I just held on.

I'm sorry. I just want the pain to stop. I just want peace. I hope you found it.

With all the love I never got to give,
Jenny

I clicked "Send," and for a moment, there was silence—both in my room and in my heart. I expected to feel relief but all I felt was numb. I closed my laptop and stared blankly at the walls of my apartment.

That's when I heard it.

A soft thud like the sound of paper hitting the floor. My gaze flicked to the source. It's an envelope—yellow (my favorite color), with Van Gogh painting stamps all over it. It has my name written on it. I frowned. Kanino galing ito? There was no one else in the nearby apartment, and I hadn't heard the door open. Someone just slid it in the bottom part of my door.

I picked it up hesitantly. No name from where it came from. No return address. Nothing to indicate where it had come from. Just my name, written in handwriting I knew too well.

It was mine.

My heart pounded as I tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of paper and a familiar penmanship staring back at me.

"Jenny, don't do it."

My breath caught in my throat. The same exact words I had just written in my letter flashed through my mind. How is this possible?

"I received your letter. I know you feel like it's over like you can't take another step. But I need you to stop and read this before you make any final decisions."

I sank into my chair, my knees weak, and read on. The disbelief shook every part of me.

"You think this is it, that you've hit the end, but you're wrong. Jenny, I'm you—three years from now. Yes, you make it to 25. I know that's hard to believe right now, but it's true. You've sent your goodbye, and I'm sending you this to tell you that it's not yet over for us."

The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. Paano nangyari ito? Am I dreaming? Was this some sick prank?

"Jenny, you're stronger than you think. I know it doesn't feel like it, but please believe me—you get through this. You think no one sees you, but I promise, someone will. You'll find that life has moments of light, even in all the darkness you're feeling now. Hold on, just a little longer."

I gripped the letter tighter, my hands were shaking. Napatitig ako sa salamin na nasa table ko. I look at my reflection asking myself.

Who would see me? And how could I, of all people, get through this?

"You're going to make it, and when you do, you'll look back at this moment and be so damn proud that you didn't give up. I know because I'm you. I lived this exact moment, and I'm telling you—it gets better. Not perfect, not suddenly easy, but better. I need you to trust that."

The letter ended with words I never expected to read, but ones I desperately needed.

"You are worth the fight, Jenny. Please don't give up. Give the love you never got to give to yourself. I'll see you soon."

I let out a shaky breath. I heaved the deepest sigh as my tears slowly flowed freely now. Was this real? I didn't know. But it felt real—like I was reaching through time, talking to the only person who could possibly understand what I was going through—myself.

For the first time in a long while, I felt like I had to live. I want to live.

I stared in front of the mirror, staring at the woman I'd become. I was holding a golden yellow cake with two candles flickering on top, forming a perfect "25" as the small fire danced softly.

I am 25 now—another year older, another year of battles fought and won. The scars remained, but they felt different today.

As I looked at my reflection, everything flashed before my eyes from that night.

"Happy 25th birthday, Jenny," I whispered to myself, "I did it, it's nice to see you."

- END