A dramatic take on life :3
15.7.25
It's bad. I hate this... I don't even understand what I hate. Everything? Nothing? Him? No. It's not his fault. You can't control feelings, how you feel towards another.
I wish we never became friends. I was the one who approached him back in September, after we had our first and only class together where he mentioned a book he'd read, which was one of my favourites at the time. But I now wish the idea never crossed my mind. All because we shared an interest we never even ended up talking about.
We were fairly similar in terms of sexuality and identity, yet we still remained fairly different.
It was June fourth, a Tuesday. The same day I'd recieved that damned letter. We had been friends 10 months at the time.
Or, 6 years if you include when we were friends in primary school. He spoke Italian, and sometimes spoke with my mom after school. Next year, we didn't talk anymore, no reason.
My mum would bring you up in conversations sometimes. "Have you heard anymore from _____? It's been years, he was really nice, and spoke Italian too!" Except he didn't when I saw him again, unrecognisable. His hair was shorter, lighter even. Different clothes.
Well, last time I saw him was 9 months before, he was talking with my best friend. They were also good friends.
"Oh yeah, and Maretu is also gonna do a concert nearby!" I recall the conversation going.
"I know Maretu! My favourite song from him is Magical Doctor, although I'm not a massive fan, their songs are nice." Was this okay? I hadn't spoken the whole time they were doing so. Did he remember me from 5 years ago? Then, he vanished shortly after. No clue, warning.
A message pops up. A message pops up in a group we only use when someone is on the verge of committing suicide.
"He's gonna kill himself." Sent at 17:23, from a number I hadn't saved. There was no clarification needed. All times we've used this group, was to come up with solutions to stop him from committing. It's only ever been for him. It all started with the group being created May 18th, 2025. How peculiar. Wasn't that his birthday?
Because of me. Everything, all my fault.
I was up late, the whole night of June 4th, my heart pounding. I had school the day after, I did not care. This is a nightmare, right? It's Just messing with my brain, I'm going to wake up soon, and talk with him at break the next day, forgetting all of this ever happened. No mentions of it to anyone. We would be laughing about some bullshit posted on Twitter.
That wasn't the truth, I realized as the phone in my hand rung repeatedly. One time. Two times. Three times. I hear a voice on the other end, sounding like a robot.
"Press 0 for an assistant in French. Press 1 for English, 3 for Luxembourgish, 4 for German." I press 1, so gently I was unsure if I really did, until I was redirected to a seperate call. I hear an unfamiliar voice.
"Hello, this is Antonia speaking, from the ____ - ___ - _______ suicide hotline".
It was not a dream, a trick my mind was playing on me. Suddenly, I'm overly aware of all my surroundings, the directions my blood is running in, my heartbeat, the exact pace I'm breathing at, the sound of the News Channel on the tv in the living room in a language different from what I'm used to, praying my brother doesn't burst in the room and asks who I'm calling.
Nothing. They didn't help. All they did was give me a number for a youth hotline, which I didn't end up calling because I was tired. I tried to get my classmate to call. I doubt he did, I doubt he even read the message with the phone number Antonia gave me. I gave an address, multiple names and dates. Nothing helped.
All this makes me sound like a shitty friend, could've-been boyfriend. That sounds so weird to me. Me? I, was about to be this guy's boyfriend? What?
and while it doesn't sound like I'm a total dumbass, in my head it does. I'm leaving out multiple parts where I acted like a little bitch, to my standards. Because I'm scared of what would come out of it if I did write them down and someone who knows me finds this and figures out it's me.
He's struggling, bad. Mentally and physically in an unimaginable way. But Staying would've just made me worse, worse than I already was and am. It was the only solution, the only way I wouldn't have gotten worse.
Yesterday I dyed a part of my hair light-dark blue. It got so bad I was contemplating whether to dye it blue or not, though it was the only dye I had apart from pink. I didn't feel like doing pink. Too girly for how I was feeling that moment. I didn't want to look like I was copying him. Or let people know I'm still kinda... Thinking about him everyday. I was scrolling through Instagram. He was at 200+ followers now. I go on reels, get a staged video of these two guys (they look like 16/17) bumping into eachother, pretending to fight then kissing passionately. One had light blue hair, dressed the same way as he would've. It wasn't him, but the universe was trying to telepathically tell me, it hates me. I still follow him on socials. Instagram, Tiktok... I don't know. His last repost on Tiktok,
"I'll love you forever, ana,"
audio and text. knowing damn well who it was directed to. Last repost was last month. It kind of pains me, not being able to know how else he's doing apart from the few Instagram posts he makes every once in a while.
Seeing a photo of you makes me sick, thinking about what if you never wrote to me that letter and handed it to me with so much fear? I hear anything I associated with you, my mind goes to you. Although the feeling that creeps up on me tells me it's something illegal to do. It is not. My brain is acting up lately, though. So I think it's self-explainable.
Maretu, kikuo, blue hair, 2020 alt kid style. It's all permanently engraved in my brain.
I was the one who ignored your messages, they still haven't been opened over a month later.
I was the one who realized I forgot to answer the 'can we still be friends' and didn't bother to anyway.
I was the one who started ignoring you in school because I didn't want to face the truth just yet.
I was the one who hid everytime I heard that familiar sound of keychains clashing, no? So why?
What position would we be in right now? In any case? If I liked him, if he never did, if we never spoke, if he never confessed, if he stayed in his home country, if I stayed in my home country? Where would each of us be?
But something I've realized is that one day, all of this will be a distant memory. A memory I won't be able to recall well, or maybe one that brings me great pain when thinking. He's moving schools next school year, and I won't. I'm staying here. So then, we won't have to ever talk again, right?
Sometimes, it's better to not confess to someone you have deep feelings for, unless you're entirely sure the outcome will be good.
