so I noticed

Tuesday, September 8, 2015
my tears dont count. 

The morning after I killed myself

Monday, August 24, 2015
The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.

I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.

The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.

The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.

The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.

Meggie Royer
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
Dear God, I have chosen my pride and silence for the world and my tears for you. I have nowhere else to go. I beg you to end my struggle or end me. This hurt is now unbearable.

This and more, forever...

Friday, May 29, 2015

All yours,
Monday, May 11, 2015
Dear God, please come hold my heart. I cant take the pain anymore. 

My dear Sunshine

Monday, March 2, 2015
My dear Sunshine,

I am here, writing something after ages. If it wasn't for you, I would not have come back here for some more time. This page reminds me of some things I used to be, some things I used to have, a life I was comfortable in, a life that was very difficult to let go of. They say you can't survive in the wild if you get used to living in a cage. The life I had left surely had its perks, but to me it was a cage I had to break out of. That life had a different me at a different time, that me felt hollow but stronger, this me feels fulfilling but broken, that me had hope, this me is hopeless. Hopelessly in love.

Oh my Sunshine, where do I start and where do I stop? I wish I could open my heart for you and show you what I have been through, the gradual process of becoming the person I am today, why I am the way I am, with my stubborn ideals at the expense of a good life. I wish I could tell you things I think of whispering only to your ears. May be then I will stop feeling this immense sense of loneliness that I feel. I still don't know if you'd have ever believed or understood me, there are just some things you gotta see to believe, unfortunately or fortunately, me and my life are such two things, now I know.

Sunshine, I wanted to tell you that wherever I am, whatever happens, I always think of you. I think of you so much that sometimes I keep praying to get impatient, and then I look back and deduce, I have been through enough already, if this had failed to make me impatient, probably nothing will. This scares me Sunshine. I don't want to love you the way a drowning man loves air, because it would destroy me to have you just a little. But in my reality I have you just a little.

Lately I have fallen under the trap of jealousy and comparison. All my life I have happily lacked these two traits, but now with time and built up anger they have emerged in me. So these days I look around, I look around and see, to most, love is a game of give and take, and best suited are the ones who understand this. You give me something to make my life easy, I give you something back to make your life easy, voila, that's the recipe of love. A recipe that smells more of tactics than feelings. And I have seen people being genuinely happy playing tactics all their lives, which has led me to believe may be it's not that bad. May be there are two ways to do things, and both are right. But Sunshine believe me I tried loving you this way, I cant, I am blind to what you are giving me, all I care about is what I am giving you, and that my Sunshine is a recipe for my doom, not love.

I don't care Sunshine, may be there are two ways of loving, may be there are a hundred, but there is only one way I can love you. I love you, with no beginning and no end. I love you not for you but for myself. I love you because I want to be your strength, so what if you remain only as my weakness. Real love is always chaotic. You lose control, you lose perspective. You lose the ability to protect yourself. The greater the love, the greater the chaos. It’s a given and that’s the secret. That's the secret to my recipe of love. There is nothing more terrifying or fulfilling, than complete love, it's worth the risk and I want to reach for it. But I want to reach for it with you Sunshine, only you.


all yours,