People say suicide is the most selfish thing you can ever do. But keeping someone who clearly doesn’t want to be here, isn’t that thought alone volumes more of selfish?

They say life is a gift. But it’s not. Not really. Happiness in your life is. Peace in your soul is. And lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what you’ve done.

I’ve been so distracted with being angry and hurt that I couldn’t comprehend the implications of what you did. Too blinded by my little bubble that I didn’t really see what you did. Too wrapped up in my own misery that I couldn’t see yours.

You were tired, and unhappy, and you did what you thought was your only option. For so long, I thought I’d never have closure. I thought I’d never be able to not be angry, and sad, and disappointed, and hurt. But if I keep feeling the way I feel, it makes me so much more selfish than you, because it means I wish you could have continued being faking your un-misery just so I’m not burdened by your own form of release.

I used to think it was weak. And stupid. And just so.. Selfish. But you were miserable. And  struggling. And so broken without even knowing why. And just because you couldn’t see past your own pain, it doesn’t mean you didn’t love us in your own way.

What you did. Why you did it. I get it now, in a way. It’s your own form of peace. The only escape you saw. And though I can’t say I approve, it’s a chilling enlightenment – understanding that it wasn’t a selfish or a weakness. A moment of thoughtlessness, maybe. But peeling back the layers of perspective. I see what you’ve done. And I’ll do what you never could now; I forgive you.

“Waking up begins with saying am and now. That which has awoken then lies for a while staring up at the ceiling and down into itself until it has recognized I, and therefrom deduced I am, I am now.
A Single Man, Christopher Isherwood.


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