I’m angry.
I’m incredibly sad for him and can’t even begin to imagine
the mental turmoil that would lead you to choose death, but I’m mad too. I’m
mad because of what he’s left behind. I’m mad because he was so fucking proud. Too
fucking proud. I’m mad because I can’t talk to him, because he was supposed to
come and visit me, because we were gonna go for a surf.
I’m struggling to look at the photo’s that friends are
posting of him, he didn’t ‘live his life to the fullest’ he killed himself. It’s
all very well remembering the good times but it’s fucking hard to look past all
the times that were completely shit for him. So shit…
Fucking hell Paul.
