Speaker A records diary entries from September to January documenting deepening depression and suicidal thoughts. After her death, family members B, C, and D grieve and ask why she used a permanent solution to a temporary problem, expressing regret they couldn't help.
September 28th. Dear diary, I've noticed that every time something good happens to me, something always bad follows right after. I mean, you'd think I'd be used to it, but sometimes I can't help but want to cry. Sometimes I hate my parents. They go about their lives acting as if there's nothing wrong. Acting as if there's— as if we're some big happy loving family. They just don't get it. They don't get it. They don't get how they're the ones that make me miserable. They are the ones that make me hate life. They're one of the reasons why I'm depressed.
I'm sorry I made you feel like we didn't care.
We care for you so much and we just wanted you to be happy.
I'm sorry if I ever made you feel unwanted or unloved.
September 30th. Dear diary, every single time something good happens to me, something bad always follows right after. Is it too much to ask for one, just for one good thing? I would think not, but I could be wrong.
I wanted to say that I'll always love you.
You can always talk to me when you need to.
November 10th. Dear diary, sometimes I feel like there's no reason for me to live. I wish that I could just cease to exist. I feel myself slipping. All the progress I've made is going down the drain. But who cares? It's easier this way. I'd do anything to make this pain go away. You can run from pain, but you can't hide from it. It'll always find you. Always.
I'm sorry I ignored the signs.
I understand your pain.
You'll never feel alone.
I'll always be there for you.
You're not alone.
December 19th. Dear diary, I feel alone, empty, lost, confused. I feel devastated, sad, angry, frustrated, tired. But most of all, I feel empty. I don't want to feel empty anymore. I want to enjoy life. I want help. I just don't want to admit it.
It's okay to ask for help.
I'm sorry you felt like we hated you.
Everyone feels alone sometimes. It would have gotten better.
January 2nd. Dear diary, I'm done. I'm done with life. I, I just don't know what else to do anymore. I'm tired of feeling this way. I'm tired of everyone I know hate me. I'm tired of trying over and over only to fail every single time. I'm tired of being tired. No one No one will miss me when I'm gone. I'm just doing everyone a favor. So goodbye. Thanks, diary. Thanks for being the only one I could depend on.
It's February 2nd. It's been a month since it happened, since she took herself away from us. There were so many things that I wanted to tell her, but I never got that chance. I wanted to tell her that I love her so much and that I'm so proud of her.
I wanted to tell her that I'd always— she'd always be Daddy's little girl and I'd always be there for her no matter what.
I wanted to tell her that I was sorry. I never meant to hurt her.
So why did you do it?
Why did you choose to leave us?
Why did you use a permanent solution to a temporary problem?
Didn't you know how much we loved you?
Didn't you know how much we cared? Did you once stop to think about how we would have felt?
What we would go through once you were gone?
I wish you had failed.
I wish you had failed. Why couldn't you have failed?
It's a weird feeling when you regret something that someone else did. Even weirder because you regret that they did it to themselves. She mattered to me. She mattered to a lot of people. Which is probably why we're all so confused. Confused because she never asked for help. Confused because she always seemed so happy.
I'm sorry.
Confused because— because we have to refer to her in the past tense now. Whatever her reasoning, I wish I could have helped her. She never cried out. It was just another day. And when I heard, I cried. And I yelled. And I called her foolish, and I called her selfish, and I called her cruel. But in that moment, in that one moment, she wasn't any of those things. She was just gone. And I blamed everyone. I blamed myself. I blamed her.
I'm sorry.
We may never know why she did it, but we all have our guess. She was so beautiful, they say. She didn't think so. She was such a good person, they say. I wish she had known it. She had such a big heart. But not big enough to keep beating when she asked it to stop. Stop. Whatever her reasoning, I wish I could have helped her. I know I could have helped her because she mattered to me. She will be missed. I wish she had known that.
