If you're reading this, I'm dead. No what-ifs or pointless tears. So stop crying on my letter and suck it up. I did. You can too. So, if you're done with your inevitable little sob-fest, let's move on. I'm not going to give you any of the black-and-white banter about how I hated my life, myself, etcedera. I was an emotional, annoying, vapidly selfish child, and I'm done being overtly such.

So now you're asking why, I'll bet. You probably wouldn't read this if you weren't wondering. Firstly, it's my life, after all. Secondly, I'm done with being forgotten. I know I shouldn't care, just keep fixing you all up as you come back to me bleeding and broken. I can only take so much of this. I have a breaking point too; it's just not like me to start screaming or bawling. Who would care, anyway? I've faded into the background. I'm just white noise, static leftovers of something better.

I know you're thinking this is about our dear traitor friend. Sure as hell isn't. Even if he'd been here, things would have panned out the same. Nope. Sorry. You can't blame him. Not this time. Because for some reason, I'm messed up inside. Something's wrong with me, to make me want this so bad; to want it even when I know you all need me here. I don't desire the comfort of a friend, or the caress of a lover; I don't even want the contact a foe brings with the first strike. Don't touch me, because what I want you could never give; would never give. Don't touch me, because I crave the knife.

Don't blame yourself. Please don't. I was a hindrance, so don't patronize me in death; saying I was worth something. Don't blame the traitor, either, as much as you would like to. This would have happened anyway; bet your life on it. Or at least mine, I would tell you, because it's worth so much less; but I've already erased it.

I'm not sorry about what I did. Forgive my repetition, but I was sick. Disturbed. A freak. You never saw, any of you. You never suspected. With you, I am human. Alone, I don't know what I am. Really, this is better. You don't have to see what I've become.

Don't cry at my funeral, if there is one; save your tears for lost kin, lost comrades, lost loves.

This is all I have to say. I go of my own accord, by my own desire, by my own decision. I'm empty; finished; done.

And remember, I love you.

See you on the other side.