Unbetitelt

Chapter 1: Wasted

(TW: Eating Disorders, Death)

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She died completely starved.

But that’s how she always wanted to die.

Thin so thin that she looked sick, and people got uncomfortable at the sight of her.

She saw beauty in it.

She saw beauty in starvation.

People called her thin. Said she looked sick.

She wasn’t hurt by those words.

She was happy because it was a sign for her. That she made it.

She was thin.

Maybe she was thin.

But not “thin” in her eyes.

She was just… she.

And that was ugly in her eyes.

She was ugly.

But whether she meant her inner or outer self she didn’t know.

Maybe it was the inner her personality.

Maybe she wanted to starve that away.

Or maybe her inner only became ugly since the day she began… and couldn’t stop.

Her love for starving made her blind.

Made her blind to the feeling of killing her body,

her personality,

herself.

When people asked why and when, no one had an answer.

As if nothing happened.

Maybe it just wasn’t loud and big enough.

Maybe it was too quiet and small for them to see why.

Or maybe she just wasn’t that important.

Haruki died at just 18 years.

Ironic how her name means shining sun,

although she lost her shine long ago.

But her shining left long before she left us.

I look away from her grave and at the people around it.

Everyone looks sad.

I hear them say:

“I should have noticed earlier, before it was too late.” - (You did notice. It’s not like it wasn’t obvious. She showed how she was. You just chose not to look.)

Or:

“I should have done something.” - (You did. You did enough… through doing nothing.)

My eyes go back to her headstone.

Does she regret it?

Does she feel guilt?

Or is she at peace?

Is she happy?

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Chapter 2: Left

(TW: Eating Disorders, Death)

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I go to her home, where the rest of the commemoration ceremony takes place.

Many people are there all in the living room.

Some are around the parents.

Some stand alone in groups.

I hear people say,

"Why didn’t the parents do anything?"

I walk around the house.

Look at family pictures, baby pictures.

And in every single one, she’s shining with a smile.

And the parents too.

In every photo, there’s a real smile.

No faking just her, shining.

And her parents too.

They don’t fake anything.

They’re happy.

I go up to her room.

It’s clean.

But you can feel that this room belongs to someone.

Even if it’s clean it’s not empty.

A letter is lying on her bed, on the pillow.

It’s from her.

I fold it open and read it.

And I directly see in the first lines:

"It’s not your fault. Don’t be sad. I’m sorry."

Then I read the whole thing:

"I’m dead. But it’s not your fault.

I beg you don’t be sad.

I’m sorry Mama,

and I’m sorry Papa.

You probably ask yourselves "why"

but to be honest… I don’t know anymore myself.

It’s been so long that my consciousness forgot

but my subconscious didn’t.

So I didn’t know why.

But I also did.

I knew why.

It’s complicated to explain.

But if someone understands me, it’s you guys.

When the doctor told me I would die if I continue,

I didn’t really care.

But then I looked at all the pictures of us together

and realized what kind of hole I’ll leave behind.

I realized that you always loved me,

no matter what I looked like.

I tried to change.

I tried not to go.

But it was too late.

So I wrote this letter for you

to tell you that in these 18 years,

I have and had my happiest memories with you.

I never had to be different around you.

I love you with my whole heart,

soul,

with everything I have,

with my whole me

and that will never change.

I’m so sorry I have to leave you behind.

My only regret is that I give you so much pain by leaving.

But otherwise…

I have no regret.

And I will die happy.

I will always be by your side

even if you can’t feel, see, smell, or hear me.

I’m always by your side. I promise.

You are such good parents.

You didn’t do anything wrong.

It’s not your fault.

You are and were my reason to shine.

I love you the most

in this world

and in any other life, world, or universe."

I look at the letter.

I see dried teardrops on the paper.

The parents read it already.

I fold it back together and lay it down again.

I go back down.

I look at the parents.

They look sad but peacefully sad.

Like they let go of something that would’ve pulled them down,

but still hold on to their daughter.

I feel at ease.

I feel glad.

I go back to my grave.

I stare at my headstone.

I say goodbye to myself before I leave.

I can leave

because I know I’ll stay in their memory.

Not as a weight that pulls them down,

but with peace that makes them feel at ease.

Light.

I close my eyes a last time

and leave.

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Author’s Note: