You're never going to read this.

Hello, friend. If you're reading this, I'm.. well. You know.

I know you're probably going to be looking through my bedroom closet, through my drawers, under my mattress, through the papers on my desk, trying to find this. Trying to find the note left behind.

You'll want to know my thirteen reasons why. Why I was so upset and angry and sad and frustrated and numb. Why I didn't want to be here anymore. You'll want to know if I was bullied, sexually assaulted, if someone hurt me, if I hurt someone. You'll want to know why my parents couldn't save me, why my friends couldn't save me. You'll want to know what happened, why it happened, how it got so bad.

But you won't get it. I don't have a "thirteen reasons why." You won't find any tapes left on your doorstep. You won't hear any instructions for things to do when I'm gone. This numbness had no reason, it just... was.

And.. I don't want to tell you my reasons. You wouldn't understand them. They're not so cut and dry as everyone makes them out to be. It's like... You yourself don't have to be the victim. It's just the fact that there are victims. The world's just too close, like the walls are closing in, all. the. time. Crushed by the weight of other people's thirteen reasons, even when you don't have any yourself. It's not fair to be expected to breathe when you are suffocating constantly. It's that thing about people teaching you how to swim when you're already drowning. The damage is already done. We're supposed to be saving a life, not telling it how to prevent the tragedy that already happened.

But what is the tragedy? Life, itself, maybe? Maybe we were always meant to end up here. Human nature and all that.

You're never going to read this because I'm never going to do it.

Or at least

my team hasn't won yet. And I need to see the end of the finals.

And after that

I'll want to wait till my conditioner is out -- it always takes longer than my shampoo.

And after that

I'll want to wait until my favourite pen dries out, because what's the point of living if I don't have my favourite pen?

And after that

I'll find something else to hold onto.

So you'll never find this note. I'll never properly write it. And it'll never properly find you, because I'll still be around either way.

But to those of you who do have thirteen reasons, whose team lost this season, whose conditioner has run out, whose favourite pen has dried--

You're not alone.

And I see you.

So please.

Don't let your family read a note like this one.

Find something else to hang onto. Even if it's temporary.

And when it's passed? Find the next thing.

Sincerely,

your friend

______________________

A/N:

A disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, not from my point of view. I am okay and not in danger of being in a situation which may require such a *note.*

I have recently realized that "vicarious trauma" (second-hand trauma) is a real thing, and I've been pondering the idea quite a bit lately.

It's a crazy idea to bear the weight of what could be someone else's 13 reasons even if you have none of your own personally.

If yourself or anyone else is in need of help, you're not alone. And I pray that the weight you're feeling doesn't crush you. You deserve to be able to breathe.

♡ Belle