This is an open letter to the boys who send me photos of their slashed wrists. The boys who laugh in hollow voices while telling me how empty their lives are, how empty they feel. The boys who cry themselves to sleep at night, feeling as if it would be a merciful thing to die in their slumber. In short, this post is for the boys who threaten to kill themselves.
First of all, a question.
Do I seem particularly helpful or caring to you?
Because, believe me, I’m not. Whenever this happens, I take on more of an observer’s stance. It’s like I’m watching in 3rd person perspective. That’s why I usually can’t say anything useful.
I’m sorry about that, but you shouldn’t have come to me. You know I don’t…feel…things correctly. You know that, in a way, I’m just as hollow as you are.
I used to love nurturing these boys with broken souls. They’d come to me and I’d help them, I’d help make them whole again. I’d feel so good about myself, proud of myself – it was like I was doing something helpful.
But then when I’d tell them that they were whole again and I had to go, to help someone else, they’d scream and cry and accuse me of using them. They’d actually accuse of me of feeding off their pain – can you imagine that?
And one more thing.
Why would you tell me all these things when you know that Lucien killed himself, that night long ago, and blamed it on me? You know how horrible I felt afterwards. You know how hard I cried. You know how his death changed me for the worse.
Is this my punishment for abandoning him?
A boy attempted suicide early this morning. He called me on the way home from the hospital, he was laughing as he sent me photos of his bandaged wrists and neck and he recounted his experience with vivid animation, like it was something pleasant and enjoyable.
And now another boy contacted me, telling me that he wanted to disappear and he wanted my help to make it happen.
I’m sorry but…I’m never going to help you.
I can understand killing for vengeance. Killing for a moment of unbridled passion. Or even killing for the sheer enjoyment of it.
But I can never understand killing for mercy.
If you’re still going to go on and keep telling me these things…at least let me persuade you not to kill yourselves.