To whomever "The next letters"

To Whomever,

            I always find myself in low spots around the New Year. Maybe the eighteen years of plans falling through, things I want to happen not happening, or if they did they quickly faded so that they seem like they didn’t. So the time from January 1^st to after Valentine’s Day is a blur of depression and sadness that slowly leads to the question that always comes up when I get that low. What do I do? Do I put a gun to my head, a knife to my wrists, or a rope tied around my neck and attached securely to a rafter? Or do I ride it out? The nights always darkest before the dawn, and its been pitch black before.

            Though I think I have an over romanticized view of suicide. I’ve never gone through with it. I’ve flirted with it, but any girl who wears short shorts, a tank top, and breathes; I’m not the best flirt in the world. It seems logical, I don’t like my life how it is, what’s a better change that killing myself? To leave all the ones who knew me to question why, and argue over the wood and lining to make my casket. All that makes it sound like a good plan, and I could care less for those things I’m going to be dead soon.

            But then the other, more realistic part of my brain thinks ‘that’ll hurt’, which is the first reason that I’ve never done it. Another is the clichéd ‘You’ve got so much to live for’ which is bullshit, to settle down with a suburban miserable c**t who was the only one to f**k me twice sounds awful, and living as a lonely drunk who complains sounds about the same, but I’ll see the world change. People come up and leave, even if my life is miserable.

            I guess I’ll have to live with the fact that nothing I do will change that I’m a sloppy piece of a*s, with two left feet, and a habit of being the last dog to the bowl, and horrible timing. The only question I have is ‘Do they have secluded beaches in heaven, with a fridge of rum, and a beautiful roommate?’ because at the moment it seems tempting. Too bad I will never find out.

Depressingly Yours,

Anonymous Writer