Suicide notes: Introduction

I think I better start writing my suicide notes just in case. I'm gonna write them in English 'cause I don't want no one to freak out in case they find them cause you know, in the end I may not kill myself. I still don't know if I want to do it or if it's a side effect from my meds. Scratch that. I've never, ever been suicidal. Nor when I was a little drama queen, nor during my teenage crisis, nor while I was coming to terms with the fact that my so called boyfriend was raping me. I know for a fact that this fucking persistent death wish is a medication side effect. But it's still there.

Anyway. Suicide. That's a biggie. I don't want it to hurt for anyone. I want it to hurt the least possible, hence the notes, explaining everything very carefully. To avoid pain for myself, I'll most surely go for pills and then walk into the sea because, gods, I miss the cold salty water. It used to scare the shit out of me when I was a child but I've been missing its embrace for ages. I've been to the beach these past few years but it was never enough. Too hot, too short, too many people... Never enough. Never achieved the peace.

Then to try and hurt the least the others, I'll leave presents and notes. That's why I'll need time and money. That's why none of them will suspect. That's why they won't understand if I tell them the damn pills are giving me suicidal thoughts.

I'm writing a note for mom and dad because it is, by no means, their fault. And another one for them to read at my funeral, for everyone to understand what mental illness does to people, even to those of us lucky enough to find a loving family and understanding friends and good doctors. I am choosing the music too because I've got control issues. Imagine afterlife's a thing and I have to stand there listening to something I despise or thinking that one song would have been so much better. No way, I am leaving everything set and paid for. 

I'm writing a letter to the platonic love of my life because she already lost a friend to suicide and I would kill myself again if she thougth this is her fault. I'm guessing that's gonna be the longest. I want her to understand that she should be free from all of us she decided to take care of. I want her to live her life at its fullest. I wish I could save her from herself. But, gods, I'm so tired of trying.  

There will be another note for the big sister I never had because she stepped up and took care of me without jeopardising her own well-being and that's an art I'll never learn. I want her to know that I wouldn't have gotten so far without her. 

Of course there will also be a letter for him. I told him I intended to kill myself. He was almost unperturbed by it. He was sad and seemed to asume it was his fault. But he was kind of under anesthesia. I do not know what to write in that one, because I've told him all and everything always and a million times. Still I can't seem to reach him and more than any other thing, after four years of consistently reaching out, this is what seems to be killing me. More than the depression, the bipolarity, our finances, our tragedies or anything: the fact that we are so alike, so in love, so perfect for each other, that every one can see it and still we can't communicate. Still, we are miserable. I don't know how to fix that. I used to be a problem solver. I can't solve the most essential problem to my life: loving him without making each other miserable. 

And yet he told me I had. When I suggested to live in different places while maintaining the relationship to help us with our therapies he was touched. He reckoned it was a good idea. Playing boyfriend and girlfriend, going visit to each other's places… It made sense and we where smiling at each other for the first time in ages. Later, when the light was off he said to me: "Like Nausicaa, you have solved love". I fell asleep smiling, but nothing changed the next day. I am so done.

I need to write so many other letters and make so many arrangements. I need to find a painless way to die and a nice spot by the sea to spend a few days writing and swimming before going. Chose my last clothes. My last feast (not that this fucking meds let me enjoy food that much, and suddenly stoping the treatment would be painful and remember, we are not into pain here). Cancel memberships and accounts and all the annoying stuff that makes you angry at the world when you lose somebody you love and you have to face bureaucracy.   

I'll better get going.