It took me all of high school to do it, but I finally accomplished it. By my senior year, I wasn’t handing over my homework to slackers, running errands for some lazy person, or volunteering for things no one else wanted to do.
And I’m way happier now.
I was two when he committed suicide. I didn’t know how he really met his end until I was thirteen. It was like losing him all over again.
I’m eighteen now and I believe I have finally come to terms with it. There were times when I hated him, which I feel horrible about, but it’s part of healing. But mostly it was just overwhelming sadness. His death taught me I should keep going and give people the chance to meet, know, and possibly even love me.