I wanted someone to ask me. I wanted someone, anyone, to stop me.
You didn’t ask. Probably because you didn’t know to ask. I wanted you to come get me. Save me from myself.
I know I didn’t say it. I know you didn’t know where I was.
Why didn’t I ask you? Why didn’t I tell you?
I was alone for days. I hated how I was living.
I didn’t tell you any of that.
I didn’t want those feelings of suicide. I didn’t want to leave you and Dad. I loved my family. I loved my dog. I loved my friends. But I hurt so much. I felt like such a fuck up.
Those thoughts were so convincing. So relentless. The withdrawal from heroin, the breakup, sleep deprivation, loneliness, despair, the deep depression and most of all the rejection.
I felt so unloved from the monster created from drugs.
That last day we talked on the phone, I lied to you and told you it was not heroin. I screamed at you because I felt like nothing. I had nothing. I didn’t know what kind of help to ask for. I felt like you were tired of me.
I called you as a last hope. But you didn’t understand me. Two hours must have been too much. After that you didn’t pick up the phone again.
I wish I could have been saved. I regretted it the moment I did it. But it was too late.
I saw you and Dad wailing so loud when they told you. I saw your world fall apart. But by that time I couldn’t feel any more. I couldn’t hug you and tell you everything was going to be all right.
This is the kind of failure I can’t learn from. There’s no chance of that now.
Now there’s no hope I’ll find recovery.
I can’t come in your office to hang out to talk.
I can’t pursue my dreams.
I can’t finish my album.
I will never know what I could have been.
I can’t even say I love you.
I ended all that.