THE LETTER
Dad, Kayla,

I want you to understand.

This has nothing to do with anything that you have ever said or done: you’ve done nothing but give me love and kindness. I love you so much. I’m so sorry. You have both been there for me when I had nothing, bereft of everything.
I owe you the explanation.
Dad, I didn’t tell you how bad the drugs that they gave me made me feel. I’m sorry. I feel like I snowed you. But I so wanted to be better, not to disappoint you anymore. I wanted them to work. I did try, I tried so hard. I’m sorry. You and Mummy gave me so many wonderful gifts, but I have squandered them. I apologize.
I hated the drugs. I was crawling in my own skin. I was so amped all the time-and you know that I’m the last person in the world who needs to be amped. The sleep-meds helped me to sleep, but I’m so tightly wound that they had to keep increasing the dosage. I was on a roller coaster-up and down. I didn’t feel better. I just felt strange, weird. I couldn’t tell my psych because she would have had me locked up. I was totally trapped.

I am, I am totally trapped.

I tried, I swear, I tried so hard, please believe me, I just couldn’t keep taking them.
I tried hooch, booze, for a little bit, but that didn’t work either: I felt worse.

The dreams are becoming so much more frequent. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about the dreams. I never liked them. Kay, you know, from when we were little that I hated them, that I knew that everyone hated them.

Me.

For having them. I wished they would stop. I hate them, too. I’ve always hated them. They won’t stop. I’m sorry.
I wake up and I ask God why, why did He do this to me? Why do I have to See the terrible things people have done to each other, See the horrible things that they are going to do to each other?
What did I do? I must have done something, I must have. But I don’t know what.

He wouldn’t have done this to me if I had done nothing wrong. I wish I knew what I have done. Then I could ask Him for forgiveness. But I don’t know.

I go to sleep in total dread of what I will See when I want to See nothing.
I hate Seeing.
I’m tired. I’m tired of asking why. The redundancy of people’s cruel actions is in my face, day, and night. Dad, Kay, please understand.

I can never rest, that’s what I’m trying to say. I just want to rest, have peace.

I told you about Her.

I know that you don’t like hearing about these things, but She tells me that She needs me, that She loves me. She knows about the pain that this may cause to those whom I love, but She says it will pass: She loves me, too.
She says that we can be together, that She can give to me what our wealth has not: peace.
She’s so beautiful, so kind, so warm. Please be happy for me. She gives me warmth, peace. She’s exceptionally intelligent: we have extraordinary conversations regarding anything and everything. I can talk to Her about anything, and She still loves me. I love Her.
I have my concerns, but She asks me if I want to stay here, in this place, like this, or be with Her. Forever. In peace. She says that we can rest together, in peace, forever.
To rest in peace forever with Her, as opposed to no rest, no peace. I'm so tired.

But She has shown me a way, a way to be with Her, the most glowingly bright, beautiful creature that I have ever encountered. Anywhere.

She says that it will only hurt for a few moments, then, we can be together.
And we can be happy. I can be happy.

I can finally know Happiness.
She says that She can give me Happiness.
She has become impatient.

All of my papers, account numbers, bank names, locations, Will, et cetera, documents of any significance are in the upper-right hand drawer of the bureau next to the desk in my office at my place. It will be unlocked. I believe everything is fairly self-explanatory, and I’ve already made you both joint beneficiaries on everything that I have here. I believe things will go smoothly- just have your I.D. and the certificate from the state when you go to close things out.

I love you.

Your Son, your Brother