Sorry for any language mistakes, english is not my native language.
I've finished writing my farewell letter for my best friend.
I never thought I'd post anything here. But I wanted to share this, hoping someone might understand. Even if you don't know me and I don't know you. Because it really helps to know i am not alone.
Maybe it's weird to share this, but it's all anonymous anyway, and maybe someone would like to read this farewell letter:
You don't have to read this. I just wrote down all my thoughts and feelings. Simply because I wanted to leave you with at least something, at least the possibility of understanding. I want to try to explain everything, but I don't know if I can put it into words. Generally, it doesn't make sense to try to put feelings into words, since everyone feels something different when they read them. But if I can, then I think you're the only one who can understand.
But I also don't want to burden you with my thoughts, so if you just want closure, I won't be upset if you don't want to read this. I don't want your image of me to be shattered; I just wanted to write everything down, even for myself. Even things you don't want to know. So please consider whether you read this or just leave it at that. Because once you've read something, you can't forget it. If you want to know the reason, you can read on. At least I owe you that much.
But then you'll have to live with my thoughts alone. So if you decide not to read this, try to forget me. Maybe that's even for the best. You have to decide.
I don't know when you'll read this, or even if you'll read it at all. But right now, I feel awful, and I don't know how much longer I can go on. That's why I'm starting to write this now. I've been feeling worse and worse over the last few months, and I'm slowly becoming afraid that I'll just take my own life without leaving anything behind. I don't know if you'll understand, but I'll try to explain it as best I can. The reason lies entirely with me. I've been having suicidal thoughts for about a year now, but it's getting harder and harder to suppress them and live with them. Inside, I feel completely broken. I can usually push it aside in everyday life, but it's becoming increasingly difficult. Even small external triggers can cause everything inside me to collapse in an instant, and I just want to die. That's exactly how I feel right now.
I've spent a lot of time wondering what the meaning of my life is and whether it's even worth living. Because somehow, everything feels meaningless. Some days I'm incredibly happy, and other days I feel so incredibly worthless and disgusting, and I just want to die. And I know that this isn't real, that I'm just feeling it, and I've always tried to tell myself that the way I talk to myself in my head isn't true. But none of that changes how I feel, and I can't take it anymore.
I'm increasingly stopping talking to my friends. I don't reply to their messages anymore. Whenever I'm with my friends, I feel like I don't belong anywhere. I'm kind of sitting in the middle of things, but I never talk to anyone. Every time, I feel like I'm not part of the group. Because I'm the only one who isn't invited to birthday parties or group activitys. I hate the feeling of chasing after everyone, just so I don't have to be alone. And in the end, I'm still alone because no one waits or talks to me.
It's all my own fault. When I see people I know, I deliberately avoid them or pretend I don't see them. I never participate in conversations. I don't do anything to fit in. And it hurts so much to see everything around me falling apart. How I'm distancing myself more and more from everyone around me. And how it's all my fault.
Ultimately, it's up to me; I don't want anyone to feel guilty. The only reason I'm writing all this down is because I owe you at least an explanation if I'm going to leave you alone. You know, I hate this place. I hate this planet and the people and just everything here. That's why I'll be happy when I can finally get away from here.
Whenever I was little, my parents argued terribly. I would lie in bed crying every night because they were always yelling at each other about breaking up. Eventually, it got better, but my father still has these outbursts of anger, and then he insults me, calling me a fucking slut or stupid, worthless. And sometimes it really makes me feel bad. Even though he doesn't mean it maliciously.
It started in elementary school that I felt uncomfortable in my own skin. But back then, it didn't affect my daily life. At some point, my parents started talking more and more about how tall and thin I was, and how it didn't look normal. And I was always standing right there, listening.
Generally, I always hated it when people compared my appearance. I just felt so uncomfortable. There were always comments about how i looked like a stick. that my appearance wasn't normal. When I was 11, I was told that i should lie about beeing 14 because otherwise no one would believe me since I was too tall. They always talked about me as if I wasn't even there, even when I was standing right next to them. "Just look at her. That's not normal." They didn't even use my name. I was always just "her."
You know, it really hurts to hear things like that all the time. The sad thing is that no one ever realized how much it hurt me. It all built up over the years. Eventually, I couldn't even go swimming anymore because the thought of wearing swimwear filled me with panic. Then I started thinking of myself as a cripple. I was afraid of photos and afraid of mirrors. I started having panic attacks.
You know, I feel really bad when I think about what I wrote about other people. Like my parents. I feel like I'm talking badly about them, but that's just from my perspective. I'm the only one who perceived it that way, the only one it hurt. And as long as you're not aware that you're hurting someone, you can't help it. And I've probably hurt you all much more now by simply killing myself. And I was very aware of that. And I'm sorry about that.
You know, there are also moments when I'm glad to be alive, when I'm listening to music and it's not a stressful day, and then I feel at least a little bit okay. When I see how certain people can make me feel better simply through their presence or what they do, I wonder if I could be that kind of person too. A person who makes others feel better. I wonder if I'm good enough for that, because sometimes it feels more like I'm making people's lives harder. Like I'm the complete opposite, like I'm too much. Deep down, I'm so afraid that I burden others with my presence. I'm afraid that others will find me strange, ugly, or disgusting, that they'll be ashamed to be around me. Because somehow I have those feelings about myself too. And it's hard to think that others don't think of me the way I think of myself.
Have you ever been in a situation where you lost something and only realized how good you had it when it was still there? Because often you only realize how beautiful life is when everything you had before is taken away. I always told myself that the worse things are for me now, the happier I'll be later. But then I wondered when that later would finally arrive. And than things i had started to disappear and I realized how happy i was before, now that everything is gone. And then I wondered if a later even exists. Why should I be sure that things will get better? Who guarantees that? Ultimately, I always just told myself that. But can I trust myself? How am I supposed to know what the future holds? Who decides? Does my future already exist somewhere, and if so, what does it look like? Would I really want to live there, and if it already exists, do I even have the option of deciding whether I want to live there? Can I decide anything at all? And even if my future is open, who decides what it will look like? Because it doesn't feel like I can control anything. As I write this, I'm still alive; maybe I can still somehow save myself from this life I'm currently stuck in.
I've thought long and hard about whether I should pray to God, if he exists. But no matter how often I've considered it, I've always come to the same conclusion. Even if God exists, I wouldn't want to pray to him. Because how can God be both all-powerful and completely good?
If God is completely good, why is there war? Why does he create innocent children who are raped or killed? Why does he allow all this suffering? Why did he create us in the first place? I'd rather not live at all than in a world like this. Why does he create a world that's so incredibly unfair? Why am I lying in bed while someone else is freezing outside? If he loves everyone equally, why doesn't he help everyone? Why do you have to pray to him for help? Because ultimately, God chooses who prays to him and who believes in him. He chooses where on earth he creates each person. If I had been born into a Christian family, I would believe in God now, too. This doesn't make sense. If God were all-powerful, he could help everyone. But he doesn't. I don't want to believe in a God who doesn't love everyone equally. I also don't want him to help me when he doesn't help so many others—others who are so much worse off than me. If God really exists, I would find him selfish. Maybe that's why he doesn't help me. But that's okay. Because I don't want to go to heaven. I find the idea of eternal life terrifying. Even if everything there were perfect. You can't be happy in a world where everything is perfect. You can't be happy until you've experienced the opposite. You only truly appreciate what you've had when it's all taken away. And perhaps that's why there are so many terrible things in this world. Because you can only be happy when you see how good you have it compared to others. But that's precisely why I hate this world. It's all so unfair. I don't want to live here. Creating this world alone was selfish. That's why I don't believe in God. Because he's selfish.
Right now, I feel so incapable, unable to write and put into words everything that comes to mind. Although I've always thought that at least writing was something I was good at, something I had a talent for. At least, that's what I always hoped for. But no matter what I do, no matter what I'm good at or think I am good at, I always find people who are better than me. And somehow it hurts to see that I'm not achieving what I hoped for. How something I thought was good ends up disappointing me. And something I was proud of is suddenly not enough anymore. Most of the time, while I'm writing all this, I just stare at the page because I can't seem to put it all into words. And when I do manage to put it into words, reading it doesn't feel the same as when I wrote it down. That's why I don't know if I'm even capable of explaining all my feelings to you, because I can't seem to articulate them properly. I don't know if you can relate to this. I don't know if you can understand it, even if you do. I don't even know if you'll ever read this.
Nevertheless, I'm at least trying to finish this letter. Right now, that's what's keeping me going. The thought that I have to finish it.
In my mind, I'm ugly. I've been carrying this feeling and the stress it brings with me for what feels like forever. I try to push these thoughts away with my daily routine, but nothing goes away. And I don't know how to get rid of it. Every time I think I've managed to overcome it, it all comes flooding back. It never completely disappears. In some situations, it's just easier to push these thoughts and feelings aside.
It's easier for me to control my thoughts, but the feeling remains. And I can't change it. I can only try to push it away, waiting for it all to resurface. And when that happens, nothing helps anymore. Usually, everything collapses completely from one moment to the next. It used to only happen every few months. But now it happens almost daily. And every time, I'm afraid I won't be able to hold on and will kill myself. I'm afraid I won't be able to get out of it, that I won't be able to push it all away again. Because I don't want to die. I don't want to kill myself. But it feels like there's no other way. I want to live, but not like this. Not with this body. Not with myself. I can't live with myself. With these thoughts and feelings that are so overwhelming that I can't go on. I want to change this, but I don't know how. I need help, but I don't know who to ask. I don't know where to look for help, and I don't know if anyone will even understand me. I don't know if I even deserve to be understood. At least, that's what my head tells me. And that hurts. Because actually, I want someone to understand me.
Today is Thursday.
I just tried to kill myself. I was actually trying to finish this letter, but at that moment, I didn't really care. I felt like I was losing control. The feeling I've been afraid of all along. But at the same time, this is the only time I'm capable of killing myself. Because when I think about it now, I'm afraid of it. I'm afraid of killing myself. Simply because my mind keeps asking "What if?" And then I wonder if there's another way. But actually, I know there isn't. Actually, all I really want is for it to be over. That I don't have to do any of this anymore. Because what could be better than ceasing to exist? To be free of pain? And yet, I can't do it. Because my stupid brain would rather stay here. There's no real reason for it. Every day it feels like someone is stabbing my heart with a knife. But that knife doesn't even exist. What does exist, however, is the pain it causes. That's why my only hope is that I'll lose control again and just kill myself. That I'll feel so bad again that I'll just go through with it. I'm realizing now that it's not the loss of control I'm afraid of. It's the moment when that control ends and I haven't managed to die again. The worst feeling is waking up the next morning. After deciding that I'm going to die today. And then having to go on living. That's what I'm afraid of. Living my life only to find out in the end that it wasn't worth continuing.
Do you remember when we talked about whether you'd press a button if it made you rich but someone died? You said you wouldn't press it, and I spent ages thinking about it for the next few days. I wouldn't press it anymore either.
Maybe you made me a better person. At least, I tried to believe that. Because what if I thought differently about it, if it wasn't money you got for pressing it? If I could be prettier, if I didn't have suicidal thoughts anymore, if I stopped feeling so unwell all the time? You know, that's already three times I'd press that button in a heartbeat. Without even thinking. Ultimately, I'm not as good as I try to convince myself. I'll never be able to think like you, no matter how much I wish I could. You don't know how much I appreciate that about you, that you always put others first, always try to make sure they're okay. I've noticed when you've done something for me. I just never thanked you. I always wanted to be like you, too. But I'm way too selfish for that.
You said there are no people who are better than others. But sometimes it really doesn't feel that way.
Maybe I was just good enough as I am. Maybe I wouldn't have killed myself in another life. But maybe then I wouldn't have met you at all. And I'm so grateful that I did.
Because you are by far the best person I've ever had the privilege of knowing.
Now maybe you understand me a little better. I don't want you to feel bad after reading this. So do what you think is right with this. But please don't hurt anyone with my thoughts.
Thank you for being my best friend.
I've finished writing my farewell letter for my best friend.
I never thought I'd post anything here. But I wanted to share this, hoping someone might understand. Even if you don't know me and I don't know you. Because it really helps to know i am not alone.
Maybe it's weird to share this, but it's all anonymous anyway, and maybe someone would like to read this farewell letter:
You don't have to read this. I just wrote down all my thoughts and feelings. Simply because I wanted to leave you with at least something, at least the possibility of understanding. I want to try to explain everything, but I don't know if I can put it into words. Generally, it doesn't make sense to try to put feelings into words, since everyone feels something different when they read them. But if I can, then I think you're the only one who can understand.
But I also don't want to burden you with my thoughts, so if you just want closure, I won't be upset if you don't want to read this. I don't want your image of me to be shattered; I just wanted to write everything down, even for myself. Even things you don't want to know. So please consider whether you read this or just leave it at that. Because once you've read something, you can't forget it. If you want to know the reason, you can read on. At least I owe you that much.
But then you'll have to live with my thoughts alone. So if you decide not to read this, try to forget me. Maybe that's even for the best. You have to decide.
I don't know when you'll read this, or even if you'll read it at all. But right now, I feel awful, and I don't know how much longer I can go on. That's why I'm starting to write this now. I've been feeling worse and worse over the last few months, and I'm slowly becoming afraid that I'll just take my own life without leaving anything behind. I don't know if you'll understand, but I'll try to explain it as best I can. The reason lies entirely with me. I've been having suicidal thoughts for about a year now, but it's getting harder and harder to suppress them and live with them. Inside, I feel completely broken. I can usually push it aside in everyday life, but it's becoming increasingly difficult. Even small external triggers can cause everything inside me to collapse in an instant, and I just want to die. That's exactly how I feel right now.
I've spent a lot of time wondering what the meaning of my life is and whether it's even worth living. Because somehow, everything feels meaningless. Some days I'm incredibly happy, and other days I feel so incredibly worthless and disgusting, and I just want to die. And I know that this isn't real, that I'm just feeling it, and I've always tried to tell myself that the way I talk to myself in my head isn't true. But none of that changes how I feel, and I can't take it anymore.
I'm increasingly stopping talking to my friends. I don't reply to their messages anymore. Whenever I'm with my friends, I feel like I don't belong anywhere. I'm kind of sitting in the middle of things, but I never talk to anyone. Every time, I feel like I'm not part of the group. Because I'm the only one who isn't invited to birthday parties or group activitys. I hate the feeling of chasing after everyone, just so I don't have to be alone. And in the end, I'm still alone because no one waits or talks to me.
It's all my own fault. When I see people I know, I deliberately avoid them or pretend I don't see them. I never participate in conversations. I don't do anything to fit in. And it hurts so much to see everything around me falling apart. How I'm distancing myself more and more from everyone around me. And how it's all my fault.
Ultimately, it's up to me; I don't want anyone to feel guilty. The only reason I'm writing all this down is because I owe you at least an explanation if I'm going to leave you alone. You know, I hate this place. I hate this planet and the people and just everything here. That's why I'll be happy when I can finally get away from here.
Whenever I was little, my parents argued terribly. I would lie in bed crying every night because they were always yelling at each other about breaking up. Eventually, it got better, but my father still has these outbursts of anger, and then he insults me, calling me a fucking slut or stupid, worthless. And sometimes it really makes me feel bad. Even though he doesn't mean it maliciously.
It started in elementary school that I felt uncomfortable in my own skin. But back then, it didn't affect my daily life. At some point, my parents started talking more and more about how tall and thin I was, and how it didn't look normal. And I was always standing right there, listening.
Generally, I always hated it when people compared my appearance. I just felt so uncomfortable. There were always comments about how i looked like a stick. that my appearance wasn't normal. When I was 11, I was told that i should lie about beeing 14 because otherwise no one would believe me since I was too tall. They always talked about me as if I wasn't even there, even when I was standing right next to them. "Just look at her. That's not normal." They didn't even use my name. I was always just "her."
You know, it really hurts to hear things like that all the time. The sad thing is that no one ever realized how much it hurt me. It all built up over the years. Eventually, I couldn't even go swimming anymore because the thought of wearing swimwear filled me with panic. Then I started thinking of myself as a cripple. I was afraid of photos and afraid of mirrors. I started having panic attacks.
You know, I feel really bad when I think about what I wrote about other people. Like my parents. I feel like I'm talking badly about them, but that's just from my perspective. I'm the only one who perceived it that way, the only one it hurt. And as long as you're not aware that you're hurting someone, you can't help it. And I've probably hurt you all much more now by simply killing myself. And I was very aware of that. And I'm sorry about that.
You know, there are also moments when I'm glad to be alive, when I'm listening to music and it's not a stressful day, and then I feel at least a little bit okay. When I see how certain people can make me feel better simply through their presence or what they do, I wonder if I could be that kind of person too. A person who makes others feel better. I wonder if I'm good enough for that, because sometimes it feels more like I'm making people's lives harder. Like I'm the complete opposite, like I'm too much. Deep down, I'm so afraid that I burden others with my presence. I'm afraid that others will find me strange, ugly, or disgusting, that they'll be ashamed to be around me. Because somehow I have those feelings about myself too. And it's hard to think that others don't think of me the way I think of myself.
Have you ever been in a situation where you lost something and only realized how good you had it when it was still there? Because often you only realize how beautiful life is when everything you had before is taken away. I always told myself that the worse things are for me now, the happier I'll be later. But then I wondered when that later would finally arrive. And than things i had started to disappear and I realized how happy i was before, now that everything is gone. And then I wondered if a later even exists. Why should I be sure that things will get better? Who guarantees that? Ultimately, I always just told myself that. But can I trust myself? How am I supposed to know what the future holds? Who decides? Does my future already exist somewhere, and if so, what does it look like? Would I really want to live there, and if it already exists, do I even have the option of deciding whether I want to live there? Can I decide anything at all? And even if my future is open, who decides what it will look like? Because it doesn't feel like I can control anything. As I write this, I'm still alive; maybe I can still somehow save myself from this life I'm currently stuck in.
I've thought long and hard about whether I should pray to God, if he exists. But no matter how often I've considered it, I've always come to the same conclusion. Even if God exists, I wouldn't want to pray to him. Because how can God be both all-powerful and completely good?
If God is completely good, why is there war? Why does he create innocent children who are raped or killed? Why does he allow all this suffering? Why did he create us in the first place? I'd rather not live at all than in a world like this. Why does he create a world that's so incredibly unfair? Why am I lying in bed while someone else is freezing outside? If he loves everyone equally, why doesn't he help everyone? Why do you have to pray to him for help? Because ultimately, God chooses who prays to him and who believes in him. He chooses where on earth he creates each person. If I had been born into a Christian family, I would believe in God now, too. This doesn't make sense. If God were all-powerful, he could help everyone. But he doesn't. I don't want to believe in a God who doesn't love everyone equally. I also don't want him to help me when he doesn't help so many others—others who are so much worse off than me. If God really exists, I would find him selfish. Maybe that's why he doesn't help me. But that's okay. Because I don't want to go to heaven. I find the idea of eternal life terrifying. Even if everything there were perfect. You can't be happy in a world where everything is perfect. You can't be happy until you've experienced the opposite. You only truly appreciate what you've had when it's all taken away. And perhaps that's why there are so many terrible things in this world. Because you can only be happy when you see how good you have it compared to others. But that's precisely why I hate this world. It's all so unfair. I don't want to live here. Creating this world alone was selfish. That's why I don't believe in God. Because he's selfish.
Right now, I feel so incapable, unable to write and put into words everything that comes to mind. Although I've always thought that at least writing was something I was good at, something I had a talent for. At least, that's what I always hoped for. But no matter what I do, no matter what I'm good at or think I am good at, I always find people who are better than me. And somehow it hurts to see that I'm not achieving what I hoped for. How something I thought was good ends up disappointing me. And something I was proud of is suddenly not enough anymore. Most of the time, while I'm writing all this, I just stare at the page because I can't seem to put it all into words. And when I do manage to put it into words, reading it doesn't feel the same as when I wrote it down. That's why I don't know if I'm even capable of explaining all my feelings to you, because I can't seem to articulate them properly. I don't know if you can relate to this. I don't know if you can understand it, even if you do. I don't even know if you'll ever read this.
Nevertheless, I'm at least trying to finish this letter. Right now, that's what's keeping me going. The thought that I have to finish it.
In my mind, I'm ugly. I've been carrying this feeling and the stress it brings with me for what feels like forever. I try to push these thoughts away with my daily routine, but nothing goes away. And I don't know how to get rid of it. Every time I think I've managed to overcome it, it all comes flooding back. It never completely disappears. In some situations, it's just easier to push these thoughts and feelings aside.
It's easier for me to control my thoughts, but the feeling remains. And I can't change it. I can only try to push it away, waiting for it all to resurface. And when that happens, nothing helps anymore. Usually, everything collapses completely from one moment to the next. It used to only happen every few months. But now it happens almost daily. And every time, I'm afraid I won't be able to hold on and will kill myself. I'm afraid I won't be able to get out of it, that I won't be able to push it all away again. Because I don't want to die. I don't want to kill myself. But it feels like there's no other way. I want to live, but not like this. Not with this body. Not with myself. I can't live with myself. With these thoughts and feelings that are so overwhelming that I can't go on. I want to change this, but I don't know how. I need help, but I don't know who to ask. I don't know where to look for help, and I don't know if anyone will even understand me. I don't know if I even deserve to be understood. At least, that's what my head tells me. And that hurts. Because actually, I want someone to understand me.
Today is Thursday.
I just tried to kill myself. I was actually trying to finish this letter, but at that moment, I didn't really care. I felt like I was losing control. The feeling I've been afraid of all along. But at the same time, this is the only time I'm capable of killing myself. Because when I think about it now, I'm afraid of it. I'm afraid of killing myself. Simply because my mind keeps asking "What if?" And then I wonder if there's another way. But actually, I know there isn't. Actually, all I really want is for it to be over. That I don't have to do any of this anymore. Because what could be better than ceasing to exist? To be free of pain? And yet, I can't do it. Because my stupid brain would rather stay here. There's no real reason for it. Every day it feels like someone is stabbing my heart with a knife. But that knife doesn't even exist. What does exist, however, is the pain it causes. That's why my only hope is that I'll lose control again and just kill myself. That I'll feel so bad again that I'll just go through with it. I'm realizing now that it's not the loss of control I'm afraid of. It's the moment when that control ends and I haven't managed to die again. The worst feeling is waking up the next morning. After deciding that I'm going to die today. And then having to go on living. That's what I'm afraid of. Living my life only to find out in the end that it wasn't worth continuing.
Do you remember when we talked about whether you'd press a button if it made you rich but someone died? You said you wouldn't press it, and I spent ages thinking about it for the next few days. I wouldn't press it anymore either.
Maybe you made me a better person. At least, I tried to believe that. Because what if I thought differently about it, if it wasn't money you got for pressing it? If I could be prettier, if I didn't have suicidal thoughts anymore, if I stopped feeling so unwell all the time? You know, that's already three times I'd press that button in a heartbeat. Without even thinking. Ultimately, I'm not as good as I try to convince myself. I'll never be able to think like you, no matter how much I wish I could. You don't know how much I appreciate that about you, that you always put others first, always try to make sure they're okay. I've noticed when you've done something for me. I just never thanked you. I always wanted to be like you, too. But I'm way too selfish for that.
You said there are no people who are better than others. But sometimes it really doesn't feel that way.
Maybe I was just good enough as I am. Maybe I wouldn't have killed myself in another life. But maybe then I wouldn't have met you at all. And I'm so grateful that I did.
Because you are by far the best person I've ever had the privilege of knowing.
Now maybe you understand me a little better. I don't want you to feel bad after reading this. So do what you think is right with this. But please don't hurt anyone with my thoughts.
Thank you for being my best friend.
