Dear Everything

Dear Everything,

I quit. I'm so tired of the way this place makes me feel. I'm not doing it anymore. I'm not spending another day going on this way. I'M TIRED. Do you hear me?

Listen up. Have I caught everyone's attention? Okay, to whom it may concern the bollocks with all of you. What is the freaking point of all of this? Does anything mean anything? Is Martin Luther King up in heaven running around saying I did so much more than Frank over there. He spent his whole life as a plumber.

I'm not caring anymore. It's just me, my gaggle of kids, and the lady who manages to put up with me. No more rules for me. You hear that, Society? I've tried to stay in your good graces. I've never been jailed except that once and only for a day. I've kept a job. I've tried to be nice and a bit kind. What did all of that get me, you ask? It got me a whole bunch of judged. You voted for who, how dare you. You like what music, disgusting. You thought what, you terrible, horrible person. So, yeah, I am mothertrucking through. It's my own path from here on out. My own you can frig the frack off journey

That's right. I'm writing this letter as a metaphorical bullhorn. To shout to the World, it can go for a long walk off a short pier. Because what has a life of thinking, I was doing my best, got me? A whole garbage ton of guilt for every mistake, every misstep, every single instance my judgment was off. Newsflash, nobody's perfect, and sometimes I didn't do the right thing. There is so much I could have done better. There's no way I could put all of it down in this letter. I'd have to write a book. I'm not proud of it, but it happened. I can't change it. Just regret it.

So I quit. I resign, however you fregging want to describe it. I can't do the whole job of an upstanding citizen anymore. What even is an upstanding citizen in this torn-apart country, or world, for that matter? I don't know. I haven't got a clue, and just for shits and giggles I'll tell you I don't want to find out anymore.

If camping wasn't so much work, I'd move my whole family off the grid. Yep, I'd live in a cabin just like old Ted Kaczynski. Well, Ted, without all the going crazy and bombing strangers through the mail. I'd just completely check out. No more news, no more media, just quiet outdoors and peaceful campfires.

Hold on. Just stop. I know what you're thinking, reading this. Do I really want to quit right now? I've just been through a very emotional time. Losing someone close to you will do that. DON'T TELL ME WHAT I THINK. Of course, I'm emotional. Of course, I'm going to change my mind in a couple of months. But right now I'm freaking out. And because of that, I'm out of here, bub.

And another thing. Don't you dare try to set up an exit interview with me. Don't even think about it. I won't take it. After all, we've already established I'll be back trying again in a month or two. Because that's what I do. Optimists are nothing but persistent. It's just right now, my optimism feels more like a ghost in a graveyard than a state of mind.

Is there anything you could have done differently? Yeah, friend, there is. You can start by not letting bad things happen to good people. Do that, and most of the other things will take care of themselves.

Would I recommend you to a friend? You know this is a resignation letter, right? Not really appropriate. But, I'll answer. Yes, because we don't really have a choice. I can tell you I quit as much as I want. I can shout it out as loud as I can. But I'm going to keep waking up to everything. And as much as I want to disappear, I'm already checking back in, aren't I? I'm on here writing. I entered the last challenge. Even managed to keep my sad feelings out of it. And I feel so guilty for that. I should be curled up in a ball for the rest of my life. I should cry out her name with every one of my breaths.

Okay, that was a lot. I've got to take a breath here. Listen, I'm sorry, but this is all I can do at the moment. I'm spent. Like everything else, this letter has become too much. I know you still have questions. But I'm not going to answer them. At least not right now. I know you think I should, but I'm on my way out. Remember that little fact. So, because of that, I am well within my rights to say the hell with ya. I'll be on my way now. I don't have to make up with you. Don't worry, Life. I promise we will do the whole water under the bridge thing when I come back.

Alright, I think the time has come to sum all of this up. This letter is my resignation from everything. I'm not going to care anymore for a while. I'm going to do what it takes to heal myself, I have to. I have to, so that someday I can tear these words up and go back to being who I was before I answered the phone at ten minutes after six in the morning when I was getting my kids ready for school. I still can't remember the rest of that morning or the phone calls I had to make after taking that one. I know I should say more, but I feel like I've already said too much. So, I guess that's it for now, goodbye, everything. I fricking quit you.

Sincerely,

Somebody who doesn't know up from down anymore

Author's note

I'm doing okay. We all lose people. It hurts, but I'm healing. So no worries, no need to check on me. Honestly, I really don't want to talk about who they were or what they meant to me. I pick that scab enough in my own mind. So, pretty please, just tell me how great or bad my cheeky writing is.