I’m writing to you and you’re not here to see it, but that’s nothing new. I’ve been writing to you all along.
I’m trying to find some way to live now that you are gone by trying to help others not have to go through what I’m going through, and no one to take their life like you did. The only way I know to do it is by writing. It’s my only outlet and if I don’t do it I feel like I’m dying.
I’m trying to keep you alive but you are simply sliding out of my hands like grains of sand and being cast about by the wind. Do I simply keep writing and let your memory simply (or not so simply) live in the lives of those you’ve touched? Or do I write about your life and the beautiful person you were in a book in hopes of helping others, and for me, to keep you alive?
I don’t know any more what to do. I think nothing less than a sign in the grass saying “write your book!” would be sufficient for me to know whether I should or not and I know that’s not going to happen of course.
So for now, I will simply put fingers at rest until I can write without being hurt by the cruelty of some people that feel it their right to question what I’m doing. I’m not hurt by people that constructively give me their advice, but it does put some concerns into my brain about it.
Losing you Kaitlyn has made me not know what to do with my life anymore. It makes me question every single thing I’ve ever known to be true. It took the foundation of any security I had away and left me with the utmost of insecurities; about myself, about the world, about people. I simply exist in a whirlwind of pain.
Maybe you never felt understood, I don’t know. But I don’t feel understood and never have so I know the feeling.
I’m feeling sorry for myself now so I won’t go on and I certainly really hope you know none of this though I continue to write it.
I’m no longer making sense and your memory deserves better than this. Though you suffered the most horrible of depressions (as evidenced by your taking your life), you never once blurted out your hurt to the world like I am doing (though I would have preferred you to at least had done that to me), you never once lost your dignity, you never once lost your sense of doing what you thought was right (though what you did in the end was not right, you defended it).
Perhaps I should follow your lead my kindred spirit, and let you go in dignity the way you lived your life; let you go and say no more about it.
I could never in mere words let the world know the extent of what a beautiful person you were anyway. My mere attempts are nothing.
Perhaps that is what I should do.