"Before I Go" - My Final Letters

Letter 1: Why am I doing this?

TW: I will be discussing trauma and suicidality in this post. If you find these topics triggering, I suggest skipping this post. I will also be discussing some deeply personal experiences, brutally honest reflections, and conclusions that have taken me a long time to arrive at. Please be kind.

Dear Reader,

It’s odd to write this letter today, even though I’ve been planning it for months. I realized about 6 months ago that my time is running out. I have almost burned through my "savings”, as I like to refer to them, even though they were actually my part of my mother’s life insurance. You see, just over two years ago, at the age of 49, my mother died from stomach cancer. She was diagnosed in January and died in December, and even though the cancer took her quickly, her spirit was high and full of hope almost until the end. She was delusional, of course. Contrary to what magical thinking personality disordered trust fund girlies on TikTok like to claim, delusion doesn’t work. In the real world, cancer kills people no matter what they believe. I watched her, lying in her hospital bed, twitching and gasping for air, as she gargled her last breath before the cancer took her. I will never be able to erase that memory, unfortunately. Luckily, I grew up so severely traumatized that my brain has ample experience with suppressing harmful memories.

My mother’s death gave me a new lease on life for a while, as tragic as it sounds. The inheritance allowed me the freedom to enjoy life for the first time ever. Prior to this, I had my childhood, youth and young adulthood stolen from me by daily abuse, and I also sacrificed my youth working to pay for healthcare.

Part of the abuse I suffered came from my emotionally abusive mother. Our relationship was complex and fraught. We were very enmeshed. Her death liberated me from that the enmeshment and abuse. That’s not to say I didn’t love her, because I did, very much, and I am sure she loved me in her own way. It’s just that her way of loving hurt.

Side note, but if you’re reading this and you’ve gone no contact with your abusive parent, let this be your sign that you did the right thing. Stay strong.

With the inheritance came the ability to travel, build new skills, and have some of the foundational experiences that abuse and trauma robbed me of. I was able to simply live. To become a real person for the first time. I experienced genuine joy and peace. The financial freedom coupled with the years of internal work I had already done proved near miraculous, and since then I have grown quite fond of life. But I know it will most likely be cut short.

Unfortunately for all of us, joy is not enough. Happiness is not enough. Healing is not enough. As I’ve stated many times before in my writing and videos, in a capitalist society money is what matters. To get money, you have to work. And as happy as I am, as healed as I am, as much as I have moved on, I will never become an unmarked person. I will never become someone to whom my life didn’t happen.

Healing is not undoing.

And no amount of pressure, obligation, or need is going to fix the fact that the second I get a job, I become extremely suicidal. Having a job takes me from calm, happy, and filled with purpose, to constantly stressed, agitated, and extremely suicidal. Even if the job is part time, fully flexible, has a great working environment, and supports my needs, the way my last job did. I simply cannot work a normal job ever again. That’s not to say there is nothing I could ever do. I go live every day, I post videos to social media, I am sure I could be a talkshow host etc. I know I have skills that in some version of the universe would mean I could make money. But I quite simply cannot set that up. Whatever exhaustion drives me to suicidality when I work a 9-5 is related to the exhaustion of hustling on your own. My nervous system is fried. There is a massive difference between being a presenter/host, and being that plus lighting, camera, editing, set designer etc. the way creators have to be these days. That isn’t me. I have no problem admitting that. I am good at words and entertaining. The rest, I absolutely cannot comprehend.

Maybe I sound like a quitter, but babe, I have no idea how I am even still around. Life was never fun for me. I clawed my way to a bare minimum existence from something that was infinitely worse than that. Looking at the life I lived and where I come from, I am proud of what little I have carved out for myself. But it doesn’t sustain itself. And attempting to sustain it makes me suicidal and miserable. So if I am going to die by my own hand anyway, I would rather enjoy the time I have left, even if it means that time is cut even shorter. Because I am not attached enough to life to make myself miserable in the pursuit of sustaining it.

So, my dear reader, I see but one logical conclusion. I enjoy my life to the best of my ability with what I have left and when it is gone so am I. This way, I won’t be suicidal at all and I won’t want to die. I will get to die happy. Sure, I might be sad about the fact that I have to go, but I am pragmatic and I know a solution when I see one. I also know this solution will be difficult for people to understand.

Why die if I’m not unhappy?

Because working to sustain life makes me so unhappy that I want to die. So I can choose to either die happy or unhappy.

Please don’t make this about depression, mental health issues, or me “giving up”. I am fine and if the world was different and people were actually offered help, I would stick around for much longer. But unfortunately, “having to” function doesn’t make me functional. I have exhausted the resources available to me and I am not about to live on the streets, work as a prostitute, or depend on a man (despite what my videos might indicate).

Things might turn around. I have a few weeks left, and you never know what tomorrow might bring. Maybe I’ll decide giving OnlyFans another shot is worth it. Maybe I’ll have a life changing idea. Or maybe nothing will change. But if it turns out death is the only option for me, there are things I want people to know.

So before I go, I want you to know, that I tried. That I wanted to stay. But the world isn’t built for people like me. And that I have finally come to terms with that. Don’t worry, I have a lot of letters to write before I go. They will be deeply personal, confessional, and vulnerable. I’ll post them sporadically between other stuff, when I feel called to do so, like today. Also, I know you would mean well, but please don’t comment anything “life affirming” under here. I don’t hate life. I am not miserable. I am not depressed. I am not unhappy. I just cannot realistically sustain life, so I have to terminate it. It is the only thing that makes sense. That’s some real Virgo energy, isn’t it? Pragmatic to the end. Literally.