I’ll be honest, I haven’t told anyone. Not even a close friend— but lately I’ve been at probably one of the lowest points in my life, and though I’ve never had an actual attempt, I’ve thought about just what people would say if I was no longer here. Even if it’s not by suicide.
I’d hope they’d pick one of my favorite selfies I’ve had as a profile picture. One I actually tried smiling in. One where I attempted to look happy. Since I’m so bad at it.
I’d hope they’d talk about my passion for art and animation, and not about the horrible other thing I unfortunately went into college for.
I’d hope they’d talk about my love for my dog, and my friends.
I’d hope they’d write nice things about me. The things I wished they’d say to me now, when I actually need it. I wish they’d say how I was funny and kind and helpful to others— things they never say to me.
I wish my family said they were proud of me.
I wish they said they cared.
Or that they loved me and meant it.
I feel if it wasn’t for my dog, maybe I would have done something and offed myself already. But then I’d leave the mess of all my things for my family to have to clean up. And then the mess of myself.
I’ve always told or shown others how proud I was of them, that I loved or cared about them— but it was never something reciprocated. Even my ex found some way to just push me out and bring someone else in instead. I wish I didn’t ruin so many friendships I did.
I’m nothing but a burden, and I know I’ll die that way someday. I’m never going to amount to much.
I just hope my obituary wouldn’t read that way.