Accidental Six Sentence Sunday because I made myself sad so now you get to suffer with me
CW: Suicidal Ideation
CW: Suicide note
Catra, as per usual, is not having a great time. This is also a, uh, just a-HEM just a little tiny bit longer than 6 sentences. Don't worry about it don't worry about it don't worry about it, this is fine! :) I will find the perfect place for this :)
This has nothing to do with Carter in the Cult. This sentence is designed to torture one or two of you specifically.
Don't worry about it :)
My dedication to self destruction should be applauded.
None of the rest of you have found a way to kill me yet, but at the rate I’m going I’ve found it for you. So, you’re welcome! I’ll do the hard work and the dirty work, and you can stand there to shake your head sadly and say shit like:
“She’s in a better place now.”
“At least she isn’t suffering anymore.”
“I knew she was unwell, but…”
“It’s actually a relief to not have to worry about her anymore.”
And you’ll post your sorry online brownie point stories about me and the times you tried to help me, but gosh I was just so fucking far gone if only you could’ve done more. You’ll end it telling the people you actually care about “if you are ever feeling this way please reach out to me!” and you’ll post the number to a hotline that will call the cops on any poor fucker who calls it.
And you’ll feel better. You will feel better.
That’s what it’s all about right? I’m a nuisance, a pest, a nightmare. You can’t stand me at my best or worst, you think I’m a bitch, you think I’m scum. You tell your friends to avoid me because “oh that Catra is a bad one, just likes drama”. Just likes drama, your judgment from on high where you push back and sometimes push first but sure I love the “drama” of it all. Or maybe your friends just said that for you, and you let them puppet you about; afraid to speak up.
Well, it doesn’t matter much I suppose.
When I’m gone you’ll feel bad, but not in a way that will change you. Just enough to want to get rid of it as quickly as you got rid of me, so you make your post and have an outpouring of support from well wishers and people who wished they could’ve seen the signs.
I mean, I made each sign with sweat and tears and blood, I bent the glass tubes carefully and turned them on in neon red and green.
You saw the signs.
You just hoped they wouldn’t mean what you feared they could, and the worst part is I don’t know if you feared it because you actually cared about me or if you feared the cleanup and guilt you knew would come. Always have to make things right after all, always have to clean up my messes. If you can’t control me, you want to control the aftermath and the first step of that is to make it all about you, right?
Well don’t worry about it. It’s not your problem. I’m absolving you of that guilt, this wasn’t your fault.
I made my mistakes, and now I have to live with them, right?
As if I haven’t spent my whole life living with this. Struggling against it. Pushing the weight up for moments at a time to gasp in air before it crushed me again. (Do you remember when you used to hold me and promise I didn’t deserve that kind of misery? I do. I miss the you that believed in me, but I guess that’s my fault too.) I’ve lived with it and like everything else in my life, it just isn’t worth it. Nothing is worth it anymore,.not since you
Listen to your friends now. They’re better than me, smarter than me, kinder than me. They never liked me and they might’ve been on to something. When they tell you that it’s not your fault, it’s true. When they tell you I was unstable, it’s true. When they tell you this was inevitable, well, I think that’s true too.
Third try’s the charm right?
…
Well. Wish me luck, and do me a favor- I know I don’t deserve one, but do me one last favor.
When the mortuary asks who will pick up my remains? Leave them there. They cremate the unclaimed and I can sit in a dusty box in the basement, and when enough time passes maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll throw me away with the rest of the trash. Don’t keep me on your desk to mourn, I don’t want you to cry over me.
I want me gone. You should too.
So do me a favor and don’t claim me. Choose yourself for fucking once.
Trust me, you’ll thank me later.
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