Suicide Note

I fought, I failed, now I rest

When you get to read this, I might, very likely, be still alive. Or not. I’m not so sure. It will be much easier if I am gone already by then, yet if not, you can depend upon it that I will convince you that this note doesn't really mean anything. I will make sure to make you believe that I wasn't doing anything other than just working on my craft, merely experimenting with a style. However, when the news does finally reach you, sooner or later, and you reread this, I hope you will still find it fresh, as though I had written it the night before.

This here is an attempt to calm you down, meant to prove that I was past saving, and that it is nobody's fault. Mom has been calling me much more often, maybe something's already unconsciously pushing her to make the most of her son's final moments. Dad never calls. He isn't to blame though, because neither do I. I wish dad and I were close.

See, it's not any of your fault, you did all that you could. I am the one who was a coward. I no longer have the courage to stay one more day here. I am wearied thinking how awkward I made it feel for you, I am tired of having had to play sane when I never was, of having to show up. You did your best. There isn't more you could have done for me, so please don't feel guilty, as though you were responsible. I could have asked for help, but I didn't, at least not in those exact words please help me, or, I am depressed. You have been so busy with your own troubles, surely you couldn't have known. You even started a Mental Health Club in medical school. You held all those games, and obviously had so much fun. I wasn't able to come, depressed people, people really struggling with mental health don't easily show up for such hyped and anticipated events, they stay at home. Alone. How could you have known?

Reach out if you are struggling, you have preached again and again. Real men speak up, you said. I didn't reach out and ask for the help you were so willing to give. Maybe I was never a real man, I have never been, for had I been one, I would have spoken up, as you made it clear real men do.

I think it was a little too selfish, a little too prideful, when I hoped you would pick it up in my silence. “What are you thinking, Henry?” you have always asked. I always chuckle, and say that's how I am, that I am the contemplative kind of person. At least now you will finally know what's been on my mind most times. I hoped so much that you would see it. See that I am hurting, see that I am broken, see that I am suffering, see that I am confused, see that I am not doing well in my academics, see that I am blowing up deadlines. Perhaps I never said anything was wrong, at least not in those exact verbal words, but weren't there any hints?

‘I’m okay, and you?’ That's how I answer “how are you doing?” That's how everyone does. I also know you only asked it unconsciously, you obviously can't be seriously concerned about how I am doing, nor was I about to bore you with all the things that were going wrong in my life. But I wish you genuinely cared, that you pried just a bit past the I’m fine. That you distrusted me even for a moment. I, however, understand you didn't want to meddle in my business, or make me uncomfortable.

I did say it though. I must have. I told you about all the troubles we were having at home. I had told you about mom and how she was having such a hard time, with my siblings, and how useless I felt as a firstborn son unable to give a hand. I told you how I felt like I was a mess. Did you not hear me in all those confessions crying for your help? It's okay though, I have always been a coward, and I have always been after sympathy. Don't other people have it harder and they bear it? With a smile, and with a tender heart and resolute spirit? But there I was, ready to whine, and make things so glum by broadcasting my woes. I was an idiot, I have always been, and I beg your pardon.

You texted, I didn't reply. I missed your calls, and didn't even return them. You see, you tried. A day later, after I had told my sad tales, you did ask how I was handling it. I said it was alright. Told you there was nothing to worry about. How then could you have known? How could you see that everything was eating me up bit by bit, when I was so quiet about it? I even smiled, several times. Yeah, I attended Christian Union. Once or twice I asked you to pray with me, that God would strengthen me, that he would provide for my lack. It isn't that I didn't believe God wouldn't strengthen me, that he wouldn't provide for my needs, I just hoped you would put your hands on my shoulders, and say: brother we got you. I wished you would share your bread with me while I waited for God to answer my prayers, your prayers, our prayers. Once, you even sang, “there's a God in heaven who answers all of our prayers.” It moved me so much, and gave me so much hope. Just maybe not mine. Maybe he doesn't want anything to do with me. Maybe that's why he neither answers the ones you pray for me. I believe in God. O I could never be an atheist, I just don't believe it when you say he loves me, I am certain he doesn't for love doesn't feel this way. I must have disappointed him. My father or grandfather or great grandfather committed some sin he swore never to pardon until the tenth generation. I believe he is up there somewhere, I acknowledge him, but I don't think he acknowledges, or regards me. If he himself doesn't care, why are you expected to? That's why you shouldn't blame yourself.

I am blessed, you tell me. Your eyes say it. See, you have got things in control. See, you are so clever. Maybe I have looked like I was blessed, like I was clever, or like I had things in control, but it has never felt that way. Even what I once thought to be blessings might be…. What? They remind me how pointless it all was. I am not clever, for if I was, things might not have ended this way, and this note clearly shows you how I never had anything in control.

This doesn't have to weigh so heavily on your conscience, please don't let it. I only fear for mom, how hers days will be like. She will break into a million tiny pieces, and will never recover. I wish it were otherwise. Most of you, however, though you may at first be crushed by the news, you will quickly recover from it. You see how soon you recovered after David ended his life? Remember how we were all so broken, it was a bleak day, everything stopped, but don't you see how presently it sounds like a bedtime tale? That's how my own exit will be, you will forget it all in a moment, as if I never existed. But you see, family never does. You don't just lose your blood and forget it. A part of you dies everyday, until you join them. You my friends, don't have to worry so much, it will just be like a terrible dream, one you will soon wake up from.

W— if you get to read this, I never stopped loving you. Even in the silence. I tried, but I never could. It's not your no that led me here. Please don't feel guilty. Don't think you are responsible. I die with a broken heart, that is for certain, but my life was already falling apart before you showed up. I nearly imagined you were the one who would help me finally figure it all out, and you did, I owe you that at least, until I asked for too much. I am sorry I fell in love with you. I am sorry I betrayed our friendship. Forgive me for ruining something so beautiful by asking for more.

I am not sure how I will be received. Where am I going? I am not sure exactly where I am headed. Maybe it's heaven, maybe purgatory. Likely it is hell. Everyone who commits suicide goes to hell. I read that in St. Augustine's City of God. Suicide is committing murder, it's breaking the sixth command. But hasn't this earth also been hell in equal measure? Perhaps more?

Dearest roommate, for more than two years we have shared a roof, we have cooked our food in the same sufuria, we even shared your bed before I got mine. No, you didn't hug me like Queequeg did Ishmael but you did show me what face kindness wore. We shared laughter, several of them. I wish we shared our sorrows as well. Forgive me for those times I was so taciturn, those moments I sounded and behaved rude. You could have seen how I was wasting away, how I was dying, but I understand you were busy. Busy with your schoolwork. Once, I heard you tell a friend you weren't willing to be a mediocre doctor, you said you always made the best of the cards you were dealt. I envied you. By then I was already sick of my lemonades. You also had all those other numerous engagements, you were building a brand, you were out to establish yourself, how then could you have known I was dying? And surely I couldn't have been so selfish as to ask you to set aside your dreams to attend to my troubles. I wish my life had the meaning yours seemed to. Please don't blame yourself.

This is easier. This path is easier. I don't have any bit of courage left in me to wrestle one more day. Yes, it was because all my strength was spent, I could face life anymore. Please know this was easier, living was killing me slowly and painfully, this here at least assured me a quick and less painful one. I tried. Everyone who chooses this path tries. I feel like their kin now, for I join them soon. We all tried. But we failed, and now we rest. Now I rest.