I want to start by saying that I have written countless notes, all impulsively, with shaky hands and tears streaming down my flushed and flustered cheeks. So, this one is different. It feels…good. This time, I’ve planned everything. I waited until I had a bottle of peach schnapps and a lot of ******* to do the deed. I waited until I had the right outfit. I waited until you were in town. You being in town was the most key to my plan, actually. Because I love you. I didn’t want to die being far from you. I didn’t want to die on a day where I didn’t see you. Because I love you, and my ghost will love you forever after. I’m sorry that I left you like this. I re-read Jay Asher’s 13 Reasons Why—a book that I read at the age of 13, at the onset of my existential depression (that’s what it is, what gets me…endless thinking about death, freedom, isolation, and meaninglessness). Prior to that book suicide was not a thing in my mind, really. This one part that always stuck in the back of my mind was how, after the girl decided she was going to swallow a handful of pills, she drastically changed her hair. When I got the sudden impulse to chop off all my hair that I previously loved so much, my thoughts immediately jumped to that part of the book and I knew it was time to read it again. I wanted to list my own thirteen reasons why here, but there are so many more reasons than that and they range from the pettiest of things, like how I ***** up all my relationships, to the deeper topics I listed above. One night about a month ago—Jesus, it was really a month ago—I, drunk and high to a point beyond memory, posted a blurry picture of the street I was walking on with the caption “I wish I was Laura Palmer I wish I was dead.” When I woke up and saw that I rushed to delete it; my death wish was supposed to be secret. But it was then that I knew…I knew I wouldn’t be able to last much longer. I always wanted to either live forever or die young. And since I tragically never encountered any immortal vampires, I realized it had to be this way. Honestly I believe in reincarnation, so I’ll be back, and hopefully I won’t be labelled ‘gifted’ next time because this **** is a curse. It just doesn’t make sense to me how people can be happy, without flooding their brain and bloodstream with drugs. To me, happy people are just not thinking. They don’t realize that our existence is meaningless. They don’t realize that we are truly all alone. They don’t realize that real freedom is as empty as it is fulfilling. If they did they wouldn’t be happy. It’s been years since I started dwelling on these melancholy thoughts and I’m sure you know it only got worse as I got older and more capable of thinking deeply. I could’ve tried to be really happy like the seemingly idiotic people around me—I did try. I just knew that I had realized things they hadn’t, and there was no going back; I’d be lying to myself to try and be any other way. But enough with the philosophical/psychological *******, I just wanna say a little bit more about my love for you before I wrap this up. I was gonna say your name but it feels more meaningful to not. You know who you are; everyone knows who you are. You were the one person on the entire planet I ever truly loved. If ghosts are real (they totally are) and I come back as one I’m sure I’ll wind up haunting you. If there’s anything in my life I’m thankful for, it was that I got to be with you. It’s also the thing I’m least thankful for. Love is the weirdest thing. It brings so much joy and so much pain. Love really makes a numb person feel. You made me feel so much, and maybe that’s why I felt especially like a dead girl walking since you turned me away. Wait, that’s it. The first time I died was when we ended. I really wasn’t myself afterwards and I’m only just realizing it’s because I died when our relationship did. I’m gonna copy and paste an excerpt from something I wrote during the witching hour of October 9th because it’s really well put, in my opinion:
“I want so much. I need so little.
I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m constantly wasting my life, but I also don’t know what else I could or should spend my time doing.
Who are you?
What are you doing?
What do you want from me?
Get out.
Get the **** out.
I know that I know what I need and I know that I know that you are not a part of my future but you are so tragically still a part of my present and you need to get out.
My aura was brilliant and golden with you before but it got all tarnished when you didn’t take me back and it’s forever a gross color I could only call ‘grave green’ and you need to get out.
Who am I?
What am I doing?
What do I want from me?
Get out get out get out get out.
I love you but I’m going to stop.
I’m going to stop feeling.
My biggest issue with life—and why death seems like a more convenient, less torturous option—is that I want to be everyone and do everything and experience all the layers of humanity possible, and I can’t do that.”
And so there it is, we’ve reached the end. Well, I guess I shouldn’t say we; if you’re reading this then I already reached the end. I hope wherever I am in the afterlife I’m able to watch over and bless you with good luck. God knows you need it. It had to be this way. Goodbye. I love you. I love you a lot.


APPENDIX I.
I wrote the previous three-page long suicide note approximately ten months ago, yet here I am, still alive and still wishing I weren’t. There are so many beautiful things in the world, but I will never be one of them. I am an eternal victim; eternally chasing feelings I cannot even describe. Even the psychic could not disconnect you from my soul. My plan last November was to see you the evening I finally ‘did the deed,’ and maybe the reason I still breathe is because I have yet to see your face again in all that time. Maybe the stars have set it up like this…I won’t see you again until the day I am meant to die. I love you.

APPENDIX II.
It's been exactly one year since this was composed. I have changed so much, but remained so much the same. Your name feels foreign to my tongue. I am the ruins of what were once your dreams... I don't like you anymore. I'm trying to cultivate a lust for life; my visions of the future never include you. I have no want for death anymore, though living remains difficult. I'll always love you but you're not the One anymore. It's so much better this way. Sometimes I feel joy. Sometimes.