(Added commentary will appear in green)

I left out the beginning of the letter. To make a long story short: in the beginning of the letter I mentioned a few things that had 'caused' my upcoming suicide; I also revealed a tiny little bit of the "Michelle-incident" (if I can call it that), but I didn't really tell what happened. One more thing you should know: I called Michelle "********" in the original version, but I will call her Michelle here because that's a lot easier to read. The parts that I want to share with you, start here:

Don't think that my suicide was a rash or even impulsive decision. I've been walking around with the idea for months. Almost every night and sometimes also during the day, I have been crying because of the event mentioned above (the Michelle-incident) and later about the idea that I wouldn't make it to the summer. That no one except Kobusje (our cat, whom I tell almost everything) has ever noticed anything of this, is typical: I could never talk about it. No one could even imagine what I feel. For no one knows that I have such feelings. And no one knows that I wish almost every night that I won't wake up the next morning. You probably have a lot of trouble imagining that it was really me who wrote this letter. Imagine how people would have reacted if I would tell everything! Then it would turn out that their image of me wasn't right at all, and no one would know how to handle it.

As long as I am around people whom I can talk to, I have distraction, and that's why those people don't notice anything. But lately it seems like the more distraction I have during the day, the worse the breakdown is at night. Because a breakdown is exactly what it is. Like I said, during the day it doesn't bother me that much, at least as long as there are people around me, especially people who I can talk to. But as soon as I'm alone, and especially at night, something changes in me and I feel so terribly depressed. And that's also a reason why I couldn't study anymore: as soon as I'm sitting alone somewhere and I open a book, my thoughts wander away and I totally can't concentrate anymore. And besides, at such a moment I feel so depressed that nothing else matters to me anymore.

I realize that I hurt a lot of people by doing this. Suicide is a selfish deed. And it hurts me so much to see those people walking around without worrying about a thing; without knowing what will happen soon. Having no idea of what I'm planning to do. It would have been a lot better if I would go downhill slowly, and maybe end up in Delta (the main Rotterdam psychiatrical hospital), then at least you would have seen it coming. Now, the [negative surprise] (there doesn't seem to be a good English word for it, at least not in my dictionary) is as big as it could ever be.

(...............)

(talking about something I read about depression)

Just about the only symptom that I don't recognize, is fighting against suicidal thoughts. I don't fight them. I know that it's inevitable: it's the best thing to do, no matter how sour it sounds, and I have accepted it. And somewhere deep down inside it gives me a feeling of 'freedom': I don't care about anything anymore. All the bad things that happen to me hardly even affect me anymore.

(................)

Maybe later I can tell what the problem is (the Michelle-incident, the complete version), 'cause I think I have at least one more week to live, probably (a lot) longer too (it's now the night from 11 to 12 March). If I would die this very moment, I wouldn't resist. Even though you may never get to read this letter, thus never find out what the causes are. And that you know that, is very important to me. That I, despite the fact that you could remain ignorant forever, still would want to die at this moment, indicates how strong the pain is, and how unbearable my suffering.

(.................)

It's now the night from 13 to 14 March and it keeps getting worse and worse. As soon as there's a moment when no one is around me or it's completely quiet, my thoughts wander away and I get a terrible depression-attack. That happens, for example, when I try to study (which by the way I don't even try anymore since a few days), but also when I want to get something to eat or drink in the kitchen in the evening and there's no one else there. And even more important: It also happens during the tests. During a test I'm just sitting there in a room that is completely quiet, and especially during the first test I really had trouble not to start crying (the second test went a little better, because *she* had written to me a few days before that. By the way, that doesn't mean that I didn't feel depressed or sad.). Sometimes I'm just completely lost in thought for 15 minutes, without thinking about the test for one single second.

(...................)

It's now the night from (good) Friday 2 to Saturday 3 April. Naturally, a lot has happened again. For instance, last week I have had a new all-time-low in my depression. Crying didn't help anymore, and that was very bad. Normally it always helps a little if I just sit down and cry for a while, but last week it didn't: I kept feeling just as depressed. Ever since the depression started, it felt like someone was cutting me open with a knife. But last week it felt like my hands and feet were tied while that happened, and I couldn't resist at all. I had my suicide planned: Thursday the 1st of April was supposed to be my last day; I would end it all that night. But planning didn't turn out to be a good idea. I automatically started counting things, like "after this I will see the Marconiplein ("Marconi Square", where my subway and tram meet my bus) for three more times", and more of such stupid and less stupid things. And all that counting made me so crazy that I decided to postpone my death for some time.

(......................)

The longer the depression lasts, the more things are added to it. What I mean is, the more I start to realize what the exact causes are. It all turns out to be much more comprehensive that I first thought. When I think back about my life now, it surprises me that I have carried on for so long. In fact I have been a failure for all my life, or at least that's how most people see me. I have always known that, but for more than 19 and a half years I have suppressed that thought. But of course, it's not like I've had a terrible life, as a matter of fact, I've had a lot of fun for quite some time. But in the end I will never be able to live a normal life.

(.......................)

Most people will still judge me for how I look. And I think that's the reason why I often have so much trouble showing my emotions: I feel like people wouldn't take me seriously anyway. And I can't deal with that anymore. No one sees that I can also love a girl so much that 3 months afterwards I'm still crying almost everynight because she's gone. No one would expect that from me. And sometimes I get the idea that even Michelle doesn't really believe what I feel for her. That she thinks I'm just making something up, or that she just thinks I'm some sort of creep. And I can't blame her; in her case I probably would have had that same feeling. But even though I can't blame her, doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt me to the bone. 'Cause what can I do about looking the way I do? If I could change it, I would have done it a long time ago. (not anymore)

(.......................)

At this moment it does not bear thinking of forgetting Michelle. If that would happen, my life would be completely empty. And, maybe even worse: it could be that the pain would disappear and that I don't kill myself, while in fact my life isn't getting any better. What I mean is: the pain would get less, and then it would be too much to have a good life again, but too little to commit suicide.

And I am absolutely sure that committing suicide is the best thing for me to do. And the longer this lasts, the more sure I become. Because I hear and see so many things around me that make me realize that. For example: Tonight when I was listening to the radio I heard a poem about someone who had dedicated her whole life to one person (maybe her father; they didn't mention that); that person was suffering from a fatal desease. And now that that person had died, she didn't have anyone left to turn to, no one with whom she could talk about her feelings. And that's how I would end up too. Actually I already can't turn to my family for help with my feelings now. But that problem is with me, not with that family. Deep inside me there's just a barrier that keeps me from expressing my feelings in front of you. Another very significant reason for this: I often feel like I am so different from you. Like I have much deeper feelings. Although maybe I know you just as little as you know me.

But later, when you're gone, there will be absolutely no one left who I can turn to, no one who will ask how my day was, no one who can't live without me and no one whom I can't live without. And that's also a reason why I don't put any effort into my study anymore: if this is my prospect for the future, then what's the use of a good education and a well payed job?

(.......................)

With a lump in my throat, I would like to say something to my family. Mum, dad, I never told you this (for reasons listed above) but I would like to say it now: I deeply respect you. I mean, when I'm on the subway or the tram I see so many people having tremendous trouble keeping their children a little quiet. And there are so many people of my age who have totally fallen into evil ways. While you two have raised three children who would normally have a fantastic future and well, you just raised us well. I could have had a good future too, but the fact that that failed, is not your fault. I could have had a good future if I had been able to live with the fact that I would be alone in this life. But I can't live with that.

And I also deeply respect grandpa. He has lost his wife to whom he had been married happily for so long, and yet he's still carrying on, he's not giving up. Something which, unfortunately, I can't say about myself.

And there are a lot more people whom I respect so much. And I'm almost sure that you will all get over me. Believe me, one day the day will come that you will all live a normal life again, and that you have gotten over my death, and have gained the ability to live with it. But if I would continue living, there would never be a day on which I wouldn't be in pain.

(.....................)

Last Wednesday I was sitting alone during class, which meant no one to talk with, and I completely lost it. My thoughts were hurting me so much that I started to breath really weird, maybe I was hyperventilating. Sometimes that happens at home too, then I usually slam my head against the wall a few times and then it stops for a while. But during a lecture I can't do that of course, so I had to try desperately to focus on something else.

And this is where it ends. I wrote down some lyrics and poems that more or less applied to me, and that's where the letter ended. And from where my online journal continued.