I've written this note a thousand different times and a thousand different ways. I've concluded that things like this are things that human language cannot fully express. Many of the things I want to say will go nameless and wordless, simply because there is no way to say them. What I can say, I will, because I owe you all that much. I don't know how angry some of you will be. I don't know if you'll throw this note away, or argue against it, or hate me even more for it. I would never want to take that away from you—if you're angry, you should be. But I hope, someday, you can pick this up again and use it to find some form of peace.
I know it's human nature to blame yourself when things like this happen. I know that all of you, the people I love most, will find ways to make this your fault. You might look back at our messages. Our interactions. The things I said, or didn't say. The things you said, or didn't say. I'm not sure if there's anything I can do to alleviate that, not really. All I can say, with complete and utter honesty, is that it is not your fault. This has been a long time coming, years in the making. The only one who is to blame for my death, who you should blame, is me.
What can I say about why I did it? Truthfully, not much. If you've felt it, you understand. If you haven't, you don't. Imagine explaining to a blind person what the color red is like. You could find some words, you could try, but it would never really come close enough. The color red, for you, is a given. For me, wanting to die is a given, and has been so for a long time. It's a part of me, and, for most of you, has probably been a part of me for as long as you've known me.
Have you ever stayed awake for a really, really long time? Not just staying up until 1:00 a.m. or something like that—I mean for days. Everything seems dull, and blurry, and irritating. Nothing and nobody seems right...the world is on a tilt. All you want is to sleep. Your dearest friends and family could be with you, you could be in one of the most beautiful places in the world, you could be living out your wildest childhood dreams. But still, all you want to do is sleep. Maybe you can forget about it for a while. Have lunch with a friend, go on a nice walk, hug your pets. But still, all you want to do is sleep. It's always in the background, coloring everything you see, every interaction you have, everything that you do.
I've been awake for a while. Years, now. I've never been so tired. Today, I'm going to sleep.
For what little it's worth, I'm sorry. Truly, deeply sorry for what I have done to you. If I could erase myself from your existences to spare you this pain, I would. Honesty is the best policy here and, at the end of the day, I'm selfish. I failed to heal what was broken in me, and I am tired of trying. I'm sorry I'm being selfish. I'm sorry I didn't know how to express this to you when I was alive. I'm sorry for butting into your lives so recklessly, when I knew that things were always going to end this way. I'm sorry for your grief, your pain, and your guilt.
Of course, you don't have to forgive me. I'm not sure I would, either. But I'm saying it regardless, because I know I'm taking something from you, and I can't let you think that I did it without thinking of you at all.
If there really is life beyond death, I hope we will meet again. Until then, Lilanel
