by Jared Murphy
Note from his mother: “This is a letter my son Jared wrote to his friends before he died. He died from accidental overdose. Jared had given me the note a while back. He asked that I post it to his Facebook page. Through tears, I am sharing and awe fills my heart to have had the honor to be his mother.” Maureen Mahaney
To be posted to my Facebook – just in case (Please)
If you are reading this then the war is finally over. These words are mine and have been written as a half-baked last testament.
As most of you know I’ve been locked in a battle for control of my mind between the innermost me and the voice of addiction. For most of my adult life I fancied myself something of a ‘psychological warrior’ hunting with a honed sense of ‘truth’ that which can, must, should or couldn’t possibly be. Were this battle one waged with introspective communication, it would have been won 3 or 4 times over.
The mere fact that I am writing this may contradict what I’m about to say but I’m not really all that suicidal. Maybe that deserves some unpacking – I don’t have an overwhelming desire to bring an abrupt end to my existence, but at the same time my will to live couldn’t accurately be described as overwhelming either and I reckon that brazen apathy has cut short the lives of many before me – still understanding of that fact is not enough to tip the scales, so the choice is up to you ultimately.
There are so, so many things that I want the world to know about my little slice of the human condition – not for the sake of notoriety or attention seeking but just as a final attempt to connect with a world that seems to run more smoothly the less I interact with it. I want you to know that I don’t know very much at all. The greatest lesson I’ve absorbed in this life is how little I understand about it.
As people, we make judgments about other individuals or situations that we have no business making. I wish I would have spent more of my time listening then talking, giving love instead of seeking it.
Look back and see what you want to be remembered by. I regret deeply how many scars I have left on the hearts of those I care for. I have only the blind hope that somewhere in the net calculation of my presence that my smile or occasionally outrageous and fun personality will overshadow those short comings. Such should be the hope of any person.
If I start listing names of persons who have had tremendous impacts on me as friends, mentors, lovers, partners – the list would inevitably fall short. I believe that you know who you are. If I die this young, regrets seem a luxury I can’t afford so I’ll not touch these either.
What has become exceedingly clear to me is that what matters is how much you all understand that I love you. ALL of you.
You’ve all been a part of my human experience which I consider to be/ have been rich beyond measure. I want not your pity or tears as they can’t touch me now. It brings me peace and some measure of happiness to imagine instead that you tell my story (what pieces you, yourself have).
Don’t let someone you know try to live a second-hand version of my life. Help push the proverbial ball forward. I fear that I myself have fallen victim to this and on my search for aberrance and singularity, merely dig deeper grooves into a path which is both already clearly defined and of premature terminus.
I harbor no resentments humans. Pardon the tasteless metaphor but it is the opiate of the terminally ill to suppose their love, their exuberance, their spirit somehow persists after the organic mechanism ceases to be and I count myself among those dreamers.
With love, peace and acceptance,