Dear Willie,

Willie,

There are days that I think about your choice. Days like today when, no matter how hard I try, I can’t get you out of my head. I try, trust me, I do. I don’t want to feel this anymore. I don’t want to see your face in my mind and miss you like I do. It doesn’t matter though, it doesn’t make any difference what I want. This is how it is and you are gone and I do remember and it hurts.

Did you have any idea how that one split second of a choice would ricochet through everyone’s lives? I don’t think you did. I know that your mind was too consumed with it’s own pain and torment to think beyond what you thought was the solution to ending your own hell. When you did speak of how you thought your death would affect us, it was with the certainty that your mind conjured up in your illness. The certainty that not only would we get over it, but that our lives would be better without you here. It wasn’t a pitiful, sad “you’ll all be better off without me”; it was a simply spoken belief that your mental illness was not only going to destroy your life, but ours as well. Making sure that it didn’t happen was something that you felt you could control.

You were wrong though. It’s not better. I can’t say for sure if it is better for you in some way though really. I don’t have that faith or belief that you are “somewhere better” so that’s a bust as far as I’m concerned. You aren’t still living in a mind that was tormenting you everyday with a developing mental illness that you did not want to stick around to see where it would end up. So maybe in that way, it is better for you. I don’t know though for sure. I do know that it’s not better for those of us left behind to try to pick up the pieces and move on. I do know that from that second that you chose to step off and not make that day just another “dry run” of suicide, so many other lives have been altered in a way that they can never be any semblance of the same.

Your choice was yours to make. It affected more than just you though.

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