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12 June 1997
(heh, my birthday)

ummm. ok. let me start with. this is no one's fault. no one is responsible. i did this on my own terms. something inside of Me was eating me up. not something inside of you. or anybody else. my demons won this internal battle, just mine. perhaps these tears carried other words and names, but i was the player. you don't blame the dealer when you lose a card game. i was dealt the cards, and this is how i played them. so maybe i lost. maybe i gave up. but look at me.. i tried. you may not see that. but i'm not here now to defend myself. i think what you're reading is my attempt at Explaining myself. i don't know if this letter has turned into one of "good-bye" or one of "see you later." or somewhere in between. hopefully, i'm sleeping. because i'm damn tired. each day, for as long as i remember, has been a constant struggle. yes, i've been happy before. but you know what? i cannot pinpoint those specific moments. i can't even give you an idea of when they took place. they were like.. tiny scattered matches in a dark room. every once in a while i would come upon one and light it. but it would die out maybe twenty seconds later. and i'd keep walking, less than occasionally finding another match. often i would find a match, attempt to light it.. but snap it in half by accident. that's what it's like. and i've grown very very tired of looking for more matches. i gave up these searches that continually led to disappointment. and let the darkness envelop me. it became my blanket. my world. inside. here. it's dark like my room. ok. i think this is what separates those who understand why i did this and those who don't: i found a beauty in the darkness. uhm. i found darkness itself to be beautiful. and. i found Death. i found her warm embrace. call Death what you will. call her a he or a it. or just a void. it's basically all the same. she's.. not necessarily the answer. to a fucked-up life. yes, i "gave up," but i'm not running to her. i'm walking. i'm holding her hand. i'm exhausted and relieved. or maybe i'm still here. with you all. i have a feeling that i am. that Death isn't ready for me yet. but she'll come. if not now, then soon. someday. i'm not sure of what else to say. whoever is reading this. erm. you can read this letter and analyze it. analyze me. it's symbolic of many things, i know. but i'm not a story. or a play. i don't care what you make of this or me. but know that i'm not here to represent anything. or anyone. my presence (or lack there of) isn't around to be picked at and cut up then pinned on some bulletin with a label beneath it. but i guess i don't have much control over that. heh. i said the c-word. anyway. this is my slightly dirty window for you. you can clean off the dirt and look inside. find me. find my little noodles. or you can leave it dirty and stare at the dirt, examining all the crawling bugs. it doesn't matter to me. why would it? try to open something. it might hurt a bit. but i think it's worth that pain.

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