Content Warning: Suicide, Mental Illness.
To The Girl Who Wrote My Suicide Note:
Hello.
You didn't think I'd make it this far.
Hell, I didn't think I'd make it this far.
But I did.
Look, I'm not going to pretend it was easy. It was harder than anything I've ever done. I think what surprised me the most, through all of it, was how calm I felt. Death seemed like such a rational option that you almost convinced me that I wasn't in any danger.
Almost.
You sat behind me every day for months, getting closer and closer, louder and louder. You told me I wasn't good enough. You told me I was fat, ugly, stupid, worthless. You told me no one loved me. You told me it wasn't enough just to be alive and call it a life. You told me it would be easier to just give up. I found myself with you by the river wondering how easy it would be to forget how to swim. We were watching medical dramas and feeling jealous of the characters that lay dead at the end. And before I could protest, you were writing, and writing and writing. When I realized what you had written, I decided enough was enough.
It's taken some serious therapy, and a lot more effort than I thought I had energy for, but I made it.
You thought I was worthless.
I am not worthless.
You thought I was nothing.
I am not nothing. I have never been nothing. I am someone's sister, best friend, roommate, lunch buddy, employee, teacher, mentor. I am an actor, singer, dancer, poet, artist, pillow enthusiast, creator of beautiful things. I am not nothing. I am someone and I am something.
You thought I wasn't loved.
But I am...By my professors, who listen to all of my rantings. By my cast-mates, who sing and dance and act with me every day. By my therapist, who believes I'm strong enough to grow. By my mentor, who picks me up and sets me back on my feet every time I feel myself slipping. By my friends, who always have my back. By my family, who sat through all of my prepubescent performances of "Tomorrow." By my roommates, who listen to me snore, every night without complaint. By my brother, who looks up to me. By my fish, Swimothy, who thinks I'm cool because I bring him food. I would be missed.
And yes, some days it is all I can do to just get to tomorrow. Some days I'm just barely surviving.
But that's okay.
Because I choose to live. I choose to breathe. I choose to swim instead of sink. And every day I make that choice over and over again and call it a life.
This letter is a reminder to the girl who wrote my suicide note. It is a reminder to myself: that I am worth it, even when I don’t believe it. I am worth it.
I am fighting for myself. I'm still fighting. And I'm going to keep fighting.
I'm sorry that I met you at all, and I hope we never met again. But if we do, know this: I've got a few tricks up my sleeve and some people on my team, and we aren't going to let you win. I'm a lot stronger than I was, and if I see you again, I'll be ready.
Sincerely.
The Girl Who Lived
***If you or someone you know is in an emotional or suicidal crisis, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (800-273-8255) or 911.
