Suicide Letters

On the night that I killed myself I wrote 11 letters. Each to a different person and each allowing me for the first time to tell them who I really was. And why I had to go.

Hope you like. Plan to write for chapters if it gets a good response so if you like it comment, favourite and like!


3. Mum

Dear Mum,

So yea, I killed myself. Your daughter is suicidal. This will most likely be news to you though I am quite certain you've seen the scars. You probably shut them out. Refused to believe that you could lose another part of your life. Should I be flattered that it could present the smallest chance that you care about me? Or should I just give up on such possibilities? 

I don't know how long it will be until you have the time to read this or even comprehend that I'm gone. My existence did recently seem like something that got in your way and you mostly ignored. Why should it be any different now. So what I want you to understand is in this letter I talk to the old you. Not the one who absorbs herself in work and blanks everything that reminds her of the past. I'm talking to the women who sang me lullabies and told me I was her best girl. That woman would cry at my funeral and feel her heartbreak when she was told. Not go and talk to some client on the phone. She would of cared.

I don't know if you remember Whitby. We used to go there almost every weekend when I was a kid. We'd buy an Ice cream and we would sit on the beach for hours and hours. You, me and Dad. We would say what we thought other people were thinking. Like that snogging couple on the beach. Dad would whisper "I think he's giving her CPR." And for some reason it was hilarious every single time he said it. We didn't need to do much to be happy did we Mum? We were a family and now I see how I just took that for granted. I let myself believe that it would always be this way because I didn't know anything else. Do you remember the days that you would call work and tell them you were sick just so we could hang out for a day? We'd go shopping or we would bake a cake. The evening would come and Dad would burst through the door and shout,

"Where are my two favourite girls?" He would twirl me around and kiss you gently. It would be perfect. We still had arguments and there were days when I thought I had the worse parents in the world. There are days when I want to go back and smack the sulking 9 year old who thinks her parents are evil because they make her go to bed at 8. Show her my world now and tell her to hang on tight to what she has. And to not let Dad go buy the evening newspaper on the 9th February 2010. 

My first day of school. 5:00am and I was jumping up and down on the bed wanting to go get breakfast. You made me pancakes. I can't remember most of that day but I know for certain that you made me pancakes. They were the best pancakes in the world. I miss them. Not literally the pancakes, I can live without those, but the way you used to take care of me. Now I sit at home waiting for you and sometimes you don't come home. You think I don't notice. I always stay up. I always wait for you. Like you always used to be there for me. I guess the world just likes to turn things upside down now and again doesn't it. I cried when I had to leave you at the school gates. You wrenched my arms from around your waist, knelt down beside me and according to my Dad said "Now Mia, don't cry. It's only a couple of hours and then at the end I'll be right here and I'll pick you. So no matter how scary or big this school feels I will be always be here at the end of it. I promise." And I believed you. Stupid really. I stopped believing it the moment you picked up your phone in the funeral told the person on the other end that you weren't busy. My Mum died that day.

You didn't cry when the Police woman grabbed your hand and told you what had happened. You got up and walked out of the house and left me with the police woman. She smiled at me and told me Daddy has gone to a special place. I replied in my own special way.

"I'm not a fucking child. He's dead. Don't try and tell me that's special." And stormed away. The police woman left and I cried for hours. You didn't come back until the next day. I still don't know where you went. I never will now. I went to Hell and back and now I've got a one way ticket. And I'll take it willingly. 

There's an amazing amount that you don't know about me. For instance, where you aware that I'm a straight A student? I keep trying to show you my report card but you swipe it away and indicate to your phone. But did you also know that I've been bullied for the last 2 years of my life? That I lost my virginity at 13? That I've had 6 boyfriends, got drunk countless times, broken 2 bones, smoked 4 cigarettes and taken 1 ecstasy pill? That the scissors in my room are stained with my own blood and as I write this I'm also considering appropriate bridges to jump from. Of course not. You never knew because you never cared. And yet I still don't hate you. I know it hurt when he died Mum. I know why you're like this now but it hurt me too. I cried myself to sleep for a year after and I still miss him so much. I don't know why you blame yourself because it wasn't your fault. It's whichever boss kept that taxi driver in for an extra shift so he fell asleep at the wheel. Or maybe the ice on the road. Or Dad for having to be on that road on that exact moment. 

I have to go now Mum. The funeral is taken care of. You'll get an invite at some point. I'm not sure if you'll make it but if you do then don't cry. Don't care now only when I'm gone. That would hurt more than even if you didn't turn up. Maybe some day you'll find someone and become the inspiring woman that I remember. Or maybe not. But its by that hope that I can say this. For the first time since he died.

I love you.


Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...