How to commit suicide
Wait for the sun to set.
Don't turn the lights on. Moonlight will be streaming clear and bright through the quiet windowsi. Your doors will be locked. Your mother will not be home.
And so it will have come to this.
Grip the knife tightly in your hand. Fail to keep yourself from realizing you're afraid.
Tremble.
Wonder what my best friend will think. If he will hate you for it. If he hates you already. Whether he cares at all. Realize you haven't spoken to him in three weeks, since before it happened. Miss him.
Think of my step-father's smirk and my mother's cold eyes, and sigh.
Think of your little brother's face.
Hate yourself a little. A lot. A lifetime's worth. More than you have been able to find a way to express in your fumbling words to your friends and your classmates and your teacher and anyone who will listen.
Know that you are doing the surrounding a favor. Be certain that a life with you in it will only be a life of shame and failure for my relatives. Be sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that their lives will forever be stained unless the name Ada is erased from underneath it. Know that your honor is your life and bereft of one you cannot continue the other.
There are places they send post-traumatic people. They will look after my nearest and dearest.
Mother said you never loved her or yourself. It is a truth I haven't been able to admit.
Know this too, and draw the knife closer to your stomach.
Watch it glitter underneath the moonlight. Feel dreary. Feel dreamy.
Remember when you were seven years old and your father was holding your hand. Remember watching him smile at you. How the moonlight made everything feel like it was a movie. Remember thinking if you could only be like that, a pure person like him. Being able to love and be loved.
Find it ironic that you haven't heard from him again.
Think of your friends. Think of your classmates who you loved too much. Think of your brother, young and full of sorrows and joys waiting to be discovered, small and fragile and strong. Think of the times you actually were loved and loved in return, without your mother's lies.
Find a moment to be glad, despite everything. Remember that your life was good once.
Apologize.
Tug open your robe, and set the tip of the knife against your stomach.
Go say hello to your aunt in heaven.
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Jag mår.
