letsgetittogo
Barbiturate Summer :p
- Nov 11, 2023
- 199
I've been trying to narrow down my method of ctb, and aim to do it by December. As I prepare to ctb, I've realized how important my last words truly are to me. Since most people won't ever care to hear my final words irl, I figured I'd post the rough draft for my suicide note in this thread. I think that once my note says exactly what I want it to say, it'll be my sign from the universe that it's time to ctb.
It's a work in progress so please be sure to suggest edits, or post your own last words :)
——
I don't know how to write this, it feels like the more I think about it the less I know what to say. I'm truly thankful that my life has been a good one. When I look back, I realize how much love and beauty and kindness I've experienced. How lucky I've been to have loved and been loved. It brings tears to my eyes when I realize how much love was even in the tragedies I suffered: my grief simply being a manifestation of how much I've grown to love and care for the people who made my life worth living. The horror of my story truly begins and ends with me. The guilt, the embarrassment, and the shame that I carry in the pit of my stomach comes from the careless way that I traversed life.
There used to be days where I thought I was okay, or that somehow some way I was going to be. That one day things would just click; that my brain would stop lying to me, that I'd love myself enough to treat myself, and that treating myself wouldn't be quite so miserable. There were days when I was with you, reader, where love showered me like mana, and I'd tell myself "if things just stay like this forever, then I'm gonna be okay".
I've realized that nothing can give me the warmth that I've craved. That It must come from within me, and that I lack the desire to see it through. In truth, sobriety is incredibly lonely, therapy is incredibly lonely. It's like I've been wearing a hideous disguise, and that once I took it off I discovered I was even more hideous underneath it. The cycle has been been repeating itself for years: I drink and I do things that make me feel shame and guilt, and I drink more and more to try to escape that feeling.
I'm sick. In every way I'm sick. My body is skinny and ugly, my face is haggard and tired, there's no light in my eyes anymore. My laughs feel more and more forced, and I can't bear to take pictures of myself or see myself in the mirror. My brain is even more so; I'm anxious and codependent, I'm bipolar and depressed, and I'm suicidal more often than I'm not. I've let myself slip through the cracks, and it's turned me into a scared cornered animal; led by impulse and desperate to preserve the illusion of love and comfort.
Dear reader, just know that I'm forever thankful that I got to be your friend. I know you loved me, and I loved you. No one should have gone through what we went through, but we did. And it kills me to think of it. I'm sorry that my love for you wasn't greater, I'm sorry that my love was selfish enough to put you through everything in the past, and everything I'll be putting you through in the future. I'm sorry that I didn't love you enough to see you happy, I'm sorry that I couldn't love you until we're old and gray and withering. I'm sorry that for the first time my grief and my suffering has exceeded my desire to see you happy.
From the bottom of my heart, hurting the people I love because of my selfish reasons is the most painful trial of all. Knowing I'll never be able to make amends, knowing that no matter how much I heal, no matter how much I grow, reader, you'll never be there to see it.
My heart is filled with longing more than hope, my brain filled with more regret about the past than curiosity for the future. I've tried, I've tried, I've tried. I've kept trying, I hope, reader, that you can see that. That I've done my best despite it not being enough, that I've fought a losing battle with my own chemistry for far too long, that I've genuinely tried my best, even if my best, for a long time, was just to somehow keep myself existing.
I love you, I love you, I love you reader, you've made life worth living, and I'm endlessly thankful
- Andres (Letsgetittogo)
It's a work in progress so please be sure to suggest edits, or post your own last words :)
——
I don't know how to write this, it feels like the more I think about it the less I know what to say. I'm truly thankful that my life has been a good one. When I look back, I realize how much love and beauty and kindness I've experienced. How lucky I've been to have loved and been loved. It brings tears to my eyes when I realize how much love was even in the tragedies I suffered: my grief simply being a manifestation of how much I've grown to love and care for the people who made my life worth living. The horror of my story truly begins and ends with me. The guilt, the embarrassment, and the shame that I carry in the pit of my stomach comes from the careless way that I traversed life.
There used to be days where I thought I was okay, or that somehow some way I was going to be. That one day things would just click; that my brain would stop lying to me, that I'd love myself enough to treat myself, and that treating myself wouldn't be quite so miserable. There were days when I was with you, reader, where love showered me like mana, and I'd tell myself "if things just stay like this forever, then I'm gonna be okay".
I've realized that nothing can give me the warmth that I've craved. That It must come from within me, and that I lack the desire to see it through. In truth, sobriety is incredibly lonely, therapy is incredibly lonely. It's like I've been wearing a hideous disguise, and that once I took it off I discovered I was even more hideous underneath it. The cycle has been been repeating itself for years: I drink and I do things that make me feel shame and guilt, and I drink more and more to try to escape that feeling.
I'm sick. In every way I'm sick. My body is skinny and ugly, my face is haggard and tired, there's no light in my eyes anymore. My laughs feel more and more forced, and I can't bear to take pictures of myself or see myself in the mirror. My brain is even more so; I'm anxious and codependent, I'm bipolar and depressed, and I'm suicidal more often than I'm not. I've let myself slip through the cracks, and it's turned me into a scared cornered animal; led by impulse and desperate to preserve the illusion of love and comfort.
Dear reader, just know that I'm forever thankful that I got to be your friend. I know you loved me, and I loved you. No one should have gone through what we went through, but we did. And it kills me to think of it. I'm sorry that my love for you wasn't greater, I'm sorry that my love was selfish enough to put you through everything in the past, and everything I'll be putting you through in the future. I'm sorry that I didn't love you enough to see you happy, I'm sorry that I couldn't love you until we're old and gray and withering. I'm sorry that for the first time my grief and my suffering has exceeded my desire to see you happy.
From the bottom of my heart, hurting the people I love because of my selfish reasons is the most painful trial of all. Knowing I'll never be able to make amends, knowing that no matter how much I heal, no matter how much I grow, reader, you'll never be there to see it.
My heart is filled with longing more than hope, my brain filled with more regret about the past than curiosity for the future. I've tried, I've tried, I've tried. I've kept trying, I hope, reader, that you can see that. That I've done my best despite it not being enough, that I've fought a losing battle with my own chemistry for far too long, that I've genuinely tried my best, even if my best, for a long time, was just to somehow keep myself existing.
I love you, I love you, I love you reader, you've made life worth living, and I'm endlessly thankful
- Andres (Letsgetittogo)
