Dearest Alaska,
I guess I'm writing to you first because you were the one who touched me the most. I can be as destructive as you at times, but in different ways. In the end, all of us are in the labyrinth of suffering, but some just have it worst than others. Maybe I could say I know exactly how you feel, but I don't. Not exactly. Here's what I know: I know what it's like to feel horrible about yourself. I know what it's like to feel like you're a terrible person. I know what it's like to hide a part of yourself, and shrug off things that really break us. I know what it's like to want to die. I know what it's like to want to just vanish and end the suffering of those around you, and your own. The mood swings, everything. There is a question in my mind, though. Does it end? Does the pain end? In my opinion, you didn't kill yourself. You were only self-destructive. Thinking that one day, maybe. That's what I think sometimes. One day, maybe. I hope I never destroy myself like you did, but in the end, I destroy everything. This might be getting terribly sad, but that's what we both are, right? Terribly sad. And a lot of people too, really.
What I liked about you was why you died. It wasn't a disease. It wasn't a terrible accident (Okay, sort of). No, you were just sad. You were just miserable. You just wanted to exist the labyrinth of suffering. Maybe not that night, but one day. And I get that, because I do too. We all suffer in different ways. Like all people that suffer a lot, you didn't want to share your pain. You hid it behind a smile at times, and behind being a complete bitch who hates everyone and everything at others. That's a really good description of me.
Despite being quite alike, we're also quite different. For starters, I'm the anti-social loser who never had her first kiss, while you're the beautiful, hot girl who gets whichever guy she wants. You're fun and spontaneous, outgoing, friendly. You're what I am and what I wish to be. Maybe that's why I like you so much. Most people wouldn't dare to say this, but I do. I admire you, Alaska Young. You didn't let your pain and inner demons get in the way of having fun and living life, and guess what? That's exactly what I did. So your death made me cry, and your death caused me pain. But starts that shine so brightly eventually explode. You were one of the brightest stars in the sky.
Jim Morrison once said we shouldn't hide our pain, and that it is a part of our reality. Maybe he's right, but hadn't I hid my pain, people would notice all the horrible things I feel and do to myself. You didn't hide your pain. You said it. You told Pudge you smoked to die. You told him you were a deeply unhappy person. Oh, how I wish I could say that. Simple words, right? "What you must understand about me is that I'm a deeply unhappy person." Well, so am I. But I couldn't say those words to anyone but myself. Which is why I write. And which is why I am writing to you. Alaska Young, I am a deeply unhappy person. Deeply unhappy. Does anyone know? Nope. Not a single person. Now you do. You should feel honored, really. I rarely express my feelings.
So know that you marked me, and the mark you left was not a scar. Whenever I am sad, I will read your story, and feel even more sad. It might not make sense to you, but it does to me.
Love always, Mariana