FEBRUARY 20: A grieving letter

I wrote this letter thinking of all those I loved and lost – those I couldn’t say a proper goodbye to, those I couldn’t properly show my love and gratefulness to.

It’s a mix of my usual grieving thoughts – as a person who struggles with depression and finds it really hard to deal with death and also finds it the most natural thing ever.


7 months.

Man, it feels like yesterday and forever at the same time.

And every Thursday, and every 20th, I think that.
And I think: “Man, I keep thinking that”.
And I keep counting the days, the weeks, the months.
In five months I’ll even start counting the years.
YEARS – without you.
Is there such a thing?
Is there a world without you?
Is it really possible?

Truth is time keeps passing, but you’re always here.
Your absence is here.

I don’t even know how to explain that.
I feel it under my skin, you’re not here anymore and the whole world seems darker.

I wonder how you’re feeling.
I wonder if you can see us, if you can feel our love, if now you know, just like we all know.
We need to appreciate everyday we’re given and everything we’re given.

If there’s a light out there, I’m sure it’s you.

Here’s what I’m doing I’m trying to do: looking at the silver lining.
Clinging at all those beautiful little things that make life worth the pain.

I still fall.
I still have breakdowns.

I wish I was stronger, I’m sure you know what I mean.
I wish I was better than this, but that’s my call now: trying to always be the best of me instead of my worst enemy.

I’m not my enemy.
Our illness is my enemy. And I need to defeat it.

Maaaan. It’s not easy.

Just not enough.

These are the words I sometimes feel like screaming.

This is what I sometimes tell myself, what I sometimes think of myself.
And what I sometimes think of you.

You didn’t have the balls to stay, so you quitted. No ticket, no greetings.

And I start feeling so ashamed, I blame and punish myself so much for letting that ignorance pervade me, for letting the stigma win my mind.

Truth is -you may never know this- I’m trying to fight against that stigma, even, mostly, when it comes into my own mind.
I need to fight it for me, for you, for everyone.

And I keep fighting every single day, just like you used to do.
You’re still my biggest inspiration.

Sometimes it’s easy to think of you like that, sometimes  I feel like this whole thing is so much bigger than me and that’s the heaviest burden I’ll ever have to carry.
I’m so self-centered I hate myself.

I try to keep those bad thoughts away from me, but I keep failing.
Those piercing questions keep fucking up my mind!
Was it my fault, was it your fault, was it somebody – I’m gonna hate for the rest of my life as much as I hate you and myself – else’s fault?


That would be even too easy.
Truth is it was nobody’s and everybody’s fault, all at the same time.

It’s those fucking demons’ fault.
They hanged in there, with no one and nothing to fight them, for too long.
So in the end they tore you into pieces.

Was it a matter of a second, maybe a few minutes, maybe a few hours, maybe a whole lifetime?

What’s the point in asking such questions to myself now?

What’s the point in recalling all those moments with your voice in my ears, your laughter in my heart, your eyes into mine?

We should really appreciate what we have as long as we have it.

I can’t calm down.

I think I should thank you – how crazy, uh?
I gotta do this, you understand, don’t you?
You gave me the shock I needed.
You gave us all the shock we needed.
I only wish there could be another way.
I only wish I understood that before. – Where there signs I ignored?

You’re right, I can’t spend my life asking myself such pointless questions.
I can hear your voice telling me: “Move forward. Don’t let it be in vain”

I’m trying, I promise, I’m trying every fucking day.

If you only knew how fucking hard it is.
Did you ask that to yourself?
Can you see it?!
Can you see the trouble you got us all into?

Sometimes it’s hard to breathe.
I feel like I need oxygen, like it’s not enough.
You are my oxygen.
You were.
FUCK IT – I can hardly use the past tense.
I’‘m actually talking about you using present tense.
I’m talking to you, as if you could hear me!

I must be gone totally crazy.

And yet I keep looking for a meaning, try to understand it, but the more I think about it the less I understand. There are moments tho, in which I feel like I understand everything so well I’m scared of myself.

How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back?

I’m picking up the pieces you left me, I’m trying to use them as a light to find the path to follow into the fog. The same fog in which you lost yourself.

I’m alone, you were alone, I wish I was there, just to hold your hand and say: “Everything is gonna be ok. It’ll be ok once again.”

But I wasn’t there.
None of us was there.

I’m sorry.


You won.

I’m sorry and I’m feeling like shit for that.

What else do you want?

What else am I supposed to do?!

Lesson learnt. I understood my mistakes.
Just stop it.
You can come back now.
Stop it!
You can come back, I’m ready to understand, to really listen to you, to be there for you.

Come back.
Stop playing.

Come back, you asshole.

Fuck you, I hate you.

I hate the fact that you decided it wasn’t worth to come back anymore.
Or even worse: I hate the fact you didn’t even decide it.
It was that voice, that fucking voice in your mind, the same voice I hear so often in my own head.

How could you be so stupid?

How couldn’t you see it was fooling you?!?

How could you prefer that voice to my voice, to our voices?!

I know. I know it makes no sense to get angry.

You know I’m not angry at you.

I’m mad at those who told us to smile no-matter-what, because when we smile we look better in the pics.

I’m mad at those who told us we should feel ashamed for feeling sick, we shouldn’t say we feel sick, we shouldn’t share our pain, because that’s a shame, because if you don’t talk about it it’s like it’s less real.


I wish they taught us that.

I wish we could walk hand in hand under the storms our minds create.

I wish…

I miss you.

This is for the best teacher I’ve ever had, he never told me he had cancer and died all of sudden.
This is for my aunt, she was my second mom, she had a heart attack when I was 16 and she died in a second, a few minutes before I arrived there. I was supposed to have lunch with her that day and I feel like she still owes me a fucking lunch.
This is for Kurt Cobain and the emptiness I felt the day I discovered he wasn’t alive and I would never be able to meet him and ask him all the things I wanted to ask him. I was 14.
This is for you, C.

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