Author’s note: This isn’t exactly like what the prompt says but that’s what most of my stories are. Please let me know what I can do to improve and let me know if you liked it or not so I know if I need to make my stories more enjoyable.
I never thought I would let it get this far. This is not how I imagined I’d write letters to my past self. Growing up I’ve always written letters to my younger self to read someday in the future but I didn’t realize this one was going to be my last.
I’ve been losing myself more and more each year. I’ve been trying so hard to get better but I think it’s just getting bad again. Lately, it’s been harder to put on the fake smile I perfected all those years ago.
Life isn’t what I thought it would be. I wish someone could’ve told me this would happen. I can’t stop lying to myself. I keep telling myself I'm ok and that it will be alright but it really won’t. There’s no point in trying anymore. Even the summers aren't fun anymore, having to wear long sleeves to cover up my cuts. I miss the old me… Writing letters are all I can do now.
I’m sorry mom and dad. I know you aren’t proud of me for making this choice but I can’t do anything else. I know I can’t blame you for this decision; it’s not your fault. I just want it all to be over. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry to all my friends, even if you don’t care. I know I wasn’t the best person ever. I tried. Kinda sad how easy it is to lie, say I’m fine, fake a smile, and pretend. We used to be inseparable, but I guess people grow apart, decide to leave, and stop caring. I’m sorry.
I look over next to me and grab the blade. It’ll be better soon. I’ll be gone soon. I take the cold blade to my skin and just go at it like my skin is the canvas and the knife’s my paintbrush. I’m so close to greeting death, I’m knocking on Heaven’s doors when I remember I have one more letter to write. I replace the sharp tool in my hand with a pencil and start to write my last words.
Dear younger me,
The girl we grew up to be isn’t at all what we planned her to be. Back then in your time, life was so simple, there was hope but now everything’s a mess. Life gets way worse and I’m sorry to say it but it’s true. I completely stopped talking. It’s getting harder to fake a smile. Life is just a pile of bullshit. I’m sorry but this world just isn’t for me. I’ve been trying to fix myself but I just can’t. There’s no reason for me to stay alive. I feel like a waste of space. I guess I was just born at the wrong time. Maybe, just maybe you’ll decide to stay and things will get better but I’m not strong enough to stay here and find out for myself. No one needs me anymore, but I know you’ll be needed in the future. I lost my battle with depression. I’ll watch over you, wish you to have good luck in the future and I hope you’ll make a better decision than I did. I’m sorry.
I put my pencil down looking at the blood that dripped down onto the paper not realizing how much I lost. I pick up the blade again and cut until I’m out of breath, my heart racing, my head pounding, my eyes unable to focus. The pain starts to go away as I start to close my eyes letting the world around me turn black and letting myself fall to the ground.