Another one from my uni days, with my reflective commentary at the end to give a little insight into the thought process of the piece. T/W suicide and grief.
Friend, Please
Dear Abigail,
I never thought you'd do it.
I don't entirely believe it, to be completely honest. A part of me is really hoping that you'll just barge into my room one of these days with some food my mum's cooked up especially for you. Then you'll call me names until I leave my room and come downstairs to socialise. It's only a little part of me that thinks that though, that remaining shred of the child in me I suppose. I've been told that the best thing to do right now is, to be honest with myself. Allegedly that's the only way I'm going to recover. That's what Susan says, she's my therapist. Thanks to you I've gotten so much more attention. Everyone wants to speak with me at school and invite me out shopping or to some other undesirable location if I 'want to talk about it'. It's bloody awful. Everyone wants to be my friend and a shoulder to cry on. I think you knew that this would happen though, it's all one last plan to make me talk to people other than you.
I shared my theory with Susan and she thinks it's funny, she said you must have been an amazing person. Don't worry, I set her straight. I told her that you're a pain. Always telling me how to live my life, always getting me into trouble, always keeping me up late just to talk. My life was so much easier those five years I spent alone. No best friend to steal my food or make Christmas plans with my parents behind my back. Mum always says she doesn't remember us becoming friends, one day I brought you home with me and you made yourself welcome. I think I remember it. I've got this memory of a girl coming up to me, looking at my painting and asking if she could sit with me. I've always been shy and quiet, but I said yes for some reason. We spent the whole day together. You held my hand and announced to everyone that we were best friends and from that point on I was stuck. You'd think after 11 years I'd be sick of you but you became family at some point. You're like that weird relative that shows up to all the family events even though you were never invited but the events were nothing without you.
It's taken me a while to write this. I've not been able to write much at all if I'm honest. Mum's been trying to get me to. Every time I go downstairs there's a new notebook or stationery set that she's bought to encourage me but I just couldn't bring myself to pick up my pen until now. I can hear your scoff. No, I'm not being melodramatic. I know, I know, one day it'll get me a job which will lead to a great big mansion for the both of us and our hoard of cats, I remember. You've got to understand that this hasn't been a walk in the park for me. Last week you were the last person I wanted to write to. Last week I thought it had just been an awful prank, the eleven years invading my life to just throw it away and allow me to fall into despair so I'd have a tiny inkling of how hard life could be. It took a lot of assurances for that thought to get out of my head. I've never felt so angry. I really hated you for a while, and that's something I've never felt before. You've never been a selfish person, even as kids you wanted to share everything with everyone, but especially me. That's why I was so mad at you, because I know you thought of me when you did it. You knew how I'd feel after because we had that scare before. That morning I woke up and I didn't know if you'd reply to my messages. I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't good enough to talk you out of it and it was all my fault. 'Don't blame yourself if I do it' and I told you, I will blame myself regardless so just don't.
You didn't even phone me. It was like any other day, we reblogged the same stuff on Tumblr, sent each other things we found funny and wished each other goodnight. You posted your weekly soppy appreciative post about me, 'Another week well spent with my best friend' and attached was a blurry picture of our legs with pizza boxes atop and Moulin Rouge playing on my TV. I woke up the next day, my notifications in the hundreds because your followers loved your posts about us. I replied to a few, the usual sarcasm and digs aimed at you that you would find some sort of witty response to. I thought it was weird that you hadn't replied but just assumed you were sleeping in or running late. At breakfast, mum asked if we were picking you up and I told her you hadn't replied. We both wrote it off to you oversleeping and decided to swing by early just to make sure. I was starting to get questions where your daily 'Good morning world!' accompanied by some sort of motivational quote post and it was then that I started to worry. When I saw the police outside your house I knew you had done it. I didn't want to believe it but that gut feeling was right. I hated that I was right. I had a week off school but I wish I hadn't. Home was a constant reminder of you. I had to give mum all the things I had that had access to the internet under Susan's instructions but it didn't bother me too much, I couldn't deal with all the questions. So many people asking where you were and I honestly couldn't find an appropriate answer. Eventually, I'll just post this or something similar, maybe something less personal and more in keeping with your style. Something cryptic and abstract or something brutally straightforward, that's the way you'd want it.
Susan tells me off when I try to give your death meaning. As if it wasn't intended to be a great big statement just waiting to be unravelled. I try to tell her you were that type of person, but it's difficult to describe to someone who didn't know you. If there's an afterlife, you'll be bragging. "I killed myself to show that societal expectation of teenagers are too high, I think that's more of a statement than your death, Ms Arc.' The way you'd have done it would have been grand too, either a massive bloody masterpiece or a simple display to communicate your message. That's what we did, we analysed things, so last week I tried to analyse it but... It was nothing like I thought.
I don't get it, Gale.
That's another reason why I'm mad. If it was a symbolic display for me to derive meaning then it wouldn't hurt as much as it does. I could work with the angered protagonist taking on society in the name of her best friend motif, but this? I'm so confused. There isn't any meaning or poetic symbolism to what you've done and if there is then I don't understand which upsets me even more. How am I supposed to pass on a message if there isn't one to begin with?
Susan says you were suffering. She says there is no meaning behind it, you just didn't receive any help whilst you were suffering and that's the message. I told her that's not very comforting but she's insisted that we both tell the truth. They're being especially careful with me because they're afraid I'll follow suit. They were really reluctant to tell me how you did it but I could have guessed from the precautions that mum started taking. The pills in the bathroom were moved downstairs to a locked cabinet and the sharper knives were missing. Susan insisted for a while that it's natural for parents to take these kind of precautions but eventually, she confirmed it. She didn't state which one killed you but I think they both hit you at the same time. I think a lot of people in school are waiting to wake up to the news that I've offed myself, their smiles are pretty fake but very desperate, hoping that they're not the last person that I speak to before I 'inevitably' do it. Susan's checked me off as not suicidal but even I could have told tell them that. I'm too scared to do it, once the anger stopped I was pretty convinced the only way to get over this pain is to follow suit but I know I never could. Mum was a right state after you. I couldn't do to my family what you've done. Again I'm sure you thought about that too, right?
I'm making gradual progress. My phone is back in my possession and my pen is back in my hand. I've still got a lot of anger built up, not really sure who to take it out on. I was hoping this letter would be more hateful and accusing but you've managed to ruin that too. I'm emotionally exhausted. I can't get in the mood to write because I end up channelling whatever I'm feeling about you into it. I wish you were here, to keep me focused and help me work out what the hell it is I'm feeling. You knew me better than I knew myself, now more than ever, I feel pretty lost. I hate you for doing it, for leaving me, for not letting me help you, for leaving me with so many questions but I'll keep writing to you.
Forever yours,
Lilly.
Dear Gale,
It's been another week. Not much has changed, except your note has gone viral. It really hurt that there was no note, not even for your dad let alone me. It posted itself Tuesday and helped answer a lot of questions. Your followers have been very supportive about it and Susan has encouraged me to interact with them more, to use them a little support group. They've set up little memorials for you around the world and sent me pictures. Some of them in places that were so beautiful that I couldn't believe they were even real. Your blog has followers in the millions now and mine isn't far behind. Congratulations are in order I guess. Your note made a statement, it wasn't the type of statement I was expecting but ever since you killed yourself I've questioned just how well I knew you.
I've started to post poetry on a huge range of topics. Some of them are happy, inspired by the good times we've had, but most are about grief. This experience has really matured me, mum isn't happy about that. She mourns my loss of childhood but you made that choice for me. Grief is a hell of a thing, it's really allowed me to distance myself from all the things I used to think were so important. It's pretty freeing, in a weird way, when you start to question your own mortality you realise how little all playground talk means in the real world. I think about what you asked of me in your note a lot. Ellie and Lizzy have adopted me into their little group. They were friends with you too so it's pretty easy to get along with them, they don't mind that I'm quiet because they talk more than enough for me. They make school that little bit easier because I don't feel as alone as I did before.
Oh, do you remember Liam? That guy with the nice hair in Ellie's class. He started talking to me this week. He was actually one of your followers before all this. He walked me home the other day and it was really nice. Even in death, your presence overshadows mine but he wanted to know about my poetry more than anything. He likes to write too and his stuff is pretty decent. He met mum, and she thinks he's lovely. Obviously no substitute for you but in the three of them, I feel a little less empty. This is all still a struggle but everything is a little clearer now so I suppose I should thank you for that. I went onto your account, just to manage some things, change the details of the blog to make it clear it was going to be deactivated soon and I found your scheduled posts. In a month's time, I would have been bombarded with pictures of us, quotes from films we had enjoyed and many other things that would have set me back to square one. Were you afraid I was going to forget you? There is not a minute I do not think about you and I doubt there ever will be for the rest of my life. I don't understand it really. It feels like it was aimed to hurt, to keep the wounds fresh but even now I couldn't bring myself to undo it. Susan wants me to give her control of the account so she can examine it herself and decide whether it will do me harm but I won't let her. I'm still so lost and confused at all this, and these posts might slowly enlighten me as to why you've done this.
Whatever the reason, Abigail, I hope you're at peace. Though you have screwed me up majorly I hope that the decision you made was worth it and you're finally happy. I'll keep up these letters, so you know I've never forgotten you.
Yours eternally,
Lilly.
.P.S. There's this song that makes me think of you. It's called 'Friend, Please'. I wish you had heard it before. It's the first thing that has really resonated with me during this whole thing.
To all whom it may concern.
This is the third time I've written this note. The first time I talked myself out of it, the second time my best friend talked me out of it and you know what they say, third time's a charm. To my dad, you did nothing wrong. You worked damn hard to keep me happy in that home and she did not make that easy. She hated me from birth and you left her to ensure my safety, I will be forever grateful for your sacrifice. She instilled in me at an early age that I would never amount to anything, that I was just another insignificant body amongst millions. I never had ambitions but when you took me away from her, when you left the love of your life to protect me, I wanted to do well for you. I was average at best, but you never let me feel that way.
To Lilly, I'm sorry I let you down. I couldn't phone you like last time. You would have talked me down and I can't keep putting you through this. You deserve a lot better than me, a lot better than this, and one good thing I guess is that you'll get some new friends. You're going to do great, I believe that entirely.
To my followers, this is the end of the road. A lot of you will be asking why but I can't tell you. I'm not sure I know why either but if I figure it out I'll tell you in 80 years when you meet me on the other side. You've all been wonderful, it's a shame this world isn't. Live your lives, do the best you can do.
I'm not sorry for doing this, I do not regret it at all. I'm sorry if this hurts you but it needs to be done.
Goodbye.
'Friend, please remove your hands from
Over your eyes for me
I know you want to leave but
Friend, please don't take your life away from me' - Twenty One Pilots (Friend, Please)
Reflective Commentary:
After looking at the themes of consistent in young adult fiction in a seminar, I decided to observe the key theme of death. Young adult literature is an interesting genre as it commonly follows the progression from child-like innocence to becoming more aware of the 'real world'. I wanted to examine a character whom this transition would be forced upon in a very realistic setting. In the first draft of the piece, it was a long diary entry by Lilly, speaking about her emotions and her journey through the five stages of grief. When writing it I felt it too clinical and not in keeping with the character that I had wanted to create. I didn't want her to be a generic cliche teen as I felt part of the appeal of young adult novels was the complexity of their main characters. I explored her character further through a few free writes on death and memories and rewrote the first draft in the letter format instead. When I presented the first letter to a group of my peers I was advised by my tutor to read 'Love Letters to the Dead' by Ava Dellaira and it really helped establish what sort of tone I wanted to create. The novel was a great source of inspiration and helped my confidence in the format I had chosen for the piece.
In the first draft, I had not considered the impact of social media. Though my characters are not too much younger than myself, the world in which I grew up as a teenager is not the same as the one that people struggle in now. Social media is the way most teens create what counts as their self-identity and blogging sites like Tumblr are full of posts with teens expressing their inner turmoil. I wanted to make my victim, Abigail, appear as though she had conquered this important part of teenage life and actually be very successful at it and still end up killing herself. Though I included Lilly's response to the things they did online and the number of followers that Gale had I did not want it to be the main focus. There is an interesting contrast between the life one leads on social media and the life one actually has and I wanted to focus more on reality. I did find it particularly challenging to put myself back in the mindset of a confused teenager and it was hard to distance my own memories from the thoughts of the characters. The initial idea came from someone close to me considering suicide so it was hard to not let my own voice come across. One crossover I did allow was the use of the Twenty One Pilots song. The lyrics had a powerful impact on me because it was a similar perspective to what I was aiming for in my piece. The lines in the chorus really resonate with me and the character of Lilly because the last line 'Friend, please don't take your life away from me.' Really expressed the almost selfish desire she has for Gale to have kept living just for her sake.