XXVI
This has been something a long time in coming. I feel like it should make sense to you — Mom, Dad, I'm sorry. Helga, I'm sorry too, because I know you will be mad and disappointed, I can't even save myself. But I'm not you. I'm not a fighter, I can't keep going when so much of me has been used up fighting myself. I'm worn out. I'm exhausted. I have nothing left to give and nothing left to fight with.
Understand that this is what I want. This is what I need to do, for myself.
Sid looked up from the paper and saw that it was 12:15. "Shit!" Sid looked down at the letter on his desk. His mother had a tendency to do random checks of his room for sharp things. That's why he was writing this letter in ball point pen, she had found out that once the razors and scissors and knives and safety pins and the like were locked up, he used the sharpened lead of a mechanical pencil instead.
He shook his head and folded up the piece of paper as small as he could make it, then put it in his pack of cigarettes. Sid grabbed his phone, wallet, and jacket, then left. He had to meet Arnold for lunch.