Dear Suicide: I know you. You seem familiar, only in a way that offers both safety and fear, a promise of a better and more peaceful afterlife...if there is one. The act of taking your own life in a desperate attempt to feel absolution. I beg you to leave often, you never oblige. I have no control.

Dear Suicide: What triggered you? Where did you come from? When did you visit me first? When will I feel better? When will you leave me alone?

Dear Suicide: You are relentless. I feel so alone. No one understands the silent suffering you have given me — it is not a gift, it is a curse. I am disgusted with my life, a pain that only I will ever feel. Everyone would be better off without me. And I’d be better off dead.

Dear Suicide: Stop stalking me. I have taken my medication today, you shouldn’t be here. Why won’t you leave me alone? Your voice is still too loud. I’m begging for quiet, not even the medicine silences you. You are a menacing force. I don’t want you. Please help me.

Dear Suicide: I survived another day with you. Will you ever go away? I talked about you today in a hopeless attempt to have someone, anyone understand me or these feelings. I was labeled “crazy.” I feel worse. Take my pain away, Suicide. No one understands me or you.

Dear Suicide: You convinced me to hurt myself. One cut, just to try it. The pain feels better than anything. Euphoria. A blissful ending to a full day of warding off your demons. You didn’t get me yet, Suicide. I’ve found a loophole to your awful game.

Dear Suicide: One act of self-harm for each bad thought about myself, one for each time I wish I could have ended it, one for each person that doesn’t understand. A ritual of recklessness. Weeks of covering up the scars I have made myself. You forced my hand, I had no choice. You are selfish and misleading. A daily reminder that I am still alive, what a good joke, Suicide. I would rather be dead.

Dear Suicide: I don’t care if I die. Did the alcohol aide you in your fight for my life? It made your voice louder on this end. The pills never helped, you never shut up. I feel crazy. The therapy didn’t help either, I felt misunderstood. I felt limited in what I could and couldn’t talk about for fear of getting committed to a psych ward. You are impossible, Suicide.

Dear Suicide: You might always be here. The medication might not help me, no matter how many I try. The panic attacks are a painful reminder that I feel everything that I wish to not feel at all. You are different for everyone and there was not a textbook warning sign. You remind me to keep to myself, don’t talk about it, suffer in silence. No one will understand you, you whisper.

Dear Suicide: You are an entity that I wish for no one. A presence that truly never leaves. But I have other voices to listen to.

Dear Suicide: I am worth it. My story is not over yet. There are more people like me out there. I am not alone in the fight against you. I may never be without you, but I will always find a reason to fight. I will be strong. I will persevere until it gets better. Suicide, the bliss and euphoria that you promise cannot ever compare to the chaos I want to feel. I am needed and I am loved.

Dear Suicide: You will never take me.