If you asked me why I’m writing this, I would say I do not know because I really do not.
I’ve been thinking about death a lot, my death. I’ve made peace with it, you could say. I’m ready to leave.
I got into art therapy recently and I’ve been colouring and drawing my feelings. I’ve made three drawings so far: Trapped, Empty, and Release. I guess you could say Release is why I’m writing this. I was going to post a picture of it, but I don’t want to do that so I’ll describe it.
Release is what happens when all the blood in my body leaks through a slit in my wrist. It is lying in a pool of my own blood, as my soul leaves this world and returns to nothing.
Nothing. I’m no longer sure I want to return to nothing. I think I want another chance at life. A do-over, if you will. I want to try again, and maybe I won’t be cursed with a brain that is wrong. Maybe I won’t be an unhappy child who grows into a depressed adult. Maybe I’ll get to actually live.
I live for my friends, without them, I’d be nothing. Without them, I wouldn’t have made it this far. But I’m making peace with knowing that this far is only as far as I’m supposed to go, maybe.
I often joke about how I was a mistake because of the age gap between me and my sisters, but maybe it’s not so much of a joke, maybe I’m not supposed to be here. Maybe I was a rush job and the universe didn’t have enough time to work on the masterpiece that should’ve been here instead of me. I guess we’ll never know.
If you ask me why I write this, I would say maybe it is a foreshadowing. Maybe it is the goodbye before the goodbye.
