Hey.

So I know we're not on the best of the terms, especially because I really refuse to talk to you, look at you, or even think about you when I can avoid it.

In fact, I kind of hate you. You try and talk to me at all the worst moments. You interfere with my ability to hang out with my friends. You are responsible for a large amount of my debt and the time that I lost my job.

It's pretty weird to try and talk to you now, actually.

But we need to talk.

Because don't get me wrong, I'm still a cynic, still a pessimist, still kind of a big jerk.

Last time we talked, you didn't listen to me. So I tried it your way, and I really didn't like going home with you. It felt weird, it felt wrong. And yet you kept telling me that everything would be okay as long as I listened to you.

It wasn't okay. It was rough and horrible, and it felt like sandpaper on my heart. I hated every moment.

And since that time, I haven't tried to take you home with me. You just stayed. You dirty my sheets, you spoil my food, and you ruin my mood. I've tried to kick you out, I've threatened to call the police again, and somehow it's just made you even stronger.

So I wanted to say this publicly: I don't care anymore.

You argued logic and mathematics. You tell me that I don't matter and that I can't matter. You argue efficiency and leisure. You tell me that I don't need to struggle and that I can't enjoy myself because living is too much effort.

I can't listen to you anymore. I can't kick you out of my house, I can't kick you out of my head.

But I can finally tell you:

Even though I feel alone, I'm not. And even though I feel worthless, I'm not. I can find myself. I can make something of myself. So keep talking, keep staying around and trying.

Because this time I'm ready.

And this time, I choose life instead of death.