RESTING IN PIECES

For the past few days, I've been organizing my funeral. I’ve written down what I want my family to do, who should attend, and who shouldn't. I've decided who receives my belongings and which items should be given away.

I have screenshots of messages that should be featured in my brochure, including what people have said about me on my birthday and the impacts I've made that have been mentioned and recorded. After crying and writing all this every day, I get up, smile, and go out.

I decided I didn't want my secondary school to hold a candlelight vigil for me because that school killed me before I even died.

I've mentioned people who must write a story about me, write key points, and named the book. I've also written letters to be delivered to some people who must look out for my mom, dad, and younger sister until she finishes her university education.

Interestingly, while writing all this, I was helping others. I was sacrificing my time and energy for people who needed me. I received positive affirmations and saw the number of people who smiled just from talking to me.

One person thanked me for caring when he was sick, even though all I did was ask how he was feeling every day. I noticed a colleague's absence and reached out to check if everything was okay.

I watched the number of people who asked how I was and those who said they hoped I was doing well. One guy said my photos alone could make him feel better and used them as his profile, screensaver, and wallpaper.

I am fed up with life and don't know when I might give in to that thought. But then I looked at the people who appreciated me these past days, those who reached out because they believed I could help solve their problems, and those who laughed because of things I said or by seeing me smile. I started asking myself "WHY."

When I'm gone, my parents, siblings, colleagues, and acquaintances will all want to know why. So I needed a reason for them.

I've been triggered, and I know what triggered me, but I refused to accept that as a reason to end it. My parents are believers, but what about my other relatives who wouldn't accept my death and would seek answers? If they found out the true reasons, wouldn't they be ashamed knowing I ended it all because of this?

Then I thought about those who died unfortunately because of things they couldn't control and how their deaths hurt their loved ones and even strangers. Is that what I want for my family and those who said talking with me alone makes them forget their problems?

These were my thoughts during a sober walk. After seeing the number of people in the streets, the greens, those whose calls I ignored,and those who I smiled to, because they stared for long.

For the past few days, I've been crying, and when I have headaches, I tell myself it's because of too much screen time and reading without my glasses. I haven't done anything productive in the past week, but I hope to get better. And even if I don't, I guess this is my fate.