When I was cleaning out my room,

I found the first draft of a suicide note I wrote when I was 16 years old.

Although the lead that spilled from my pencil had faded on the paper, some of it

was still legible.

Name after name, I apologized to each of my friends for leaving so suddenly.

Dawes, Micoo, Pinski, Windbag, Spermy (apologies for referring to you as such, 'twas how it was written)

all were transcribed onto the ripped out yellow pages that were once found in a legal pad.

I couldn't go back and look at what I said, for I burnt all the pages in the driveway.

I'm sure they were meaningful though.

I cannot help but feel abandoned though. As I read over the pages and saw the names of comrades I haven't laughed with or cried with or hugged in longer than I can remember,

I long to see you.

I can't imagine what I did to upset you to the point where we don't speak or

you don't return my messages.

I can say I tried though, you can't. Although that fact will stay with me and haunt me, I hope it does the same to you. I hope you're haunted by the fact that years of friendship were thrown away for reasons that didn't exist.

Looking back on the years, I cannot count all the relationships that I've lost. Relationships that started when I was only three years old, to only end when I walked out of that disgrace of a church.

When I take a look around to see my company, I do not see one face that's been by my side since my anxiety spiked that one day and I tried to swallow those pills with gin.

I miss them though, but I wouldn't care if one day you came and tried to guilt trip me into helping you with one of your problems that I just can't fix.