Unappreciated, Unloved, Unlived

When Felix receives a message from his old high school friend Henry, he is invited to a meeting in a week. When he arrives, Henry and their old friend Halia are waiting around a note that says READ ME

Part 1 - Unappreciated

"Hey man, have you heard from Tristan recently?"

The message popped up on Felix's screen. It was from his old friend Henry. Clicking on the message, Felix drafted his response.

"No, I haven't. Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking about our friends," Henry replied.

"How come?"

​"I received this strange note the other day. It told me to gather my friends from high school at a specific date, time, and location. I already talked to Halia. You and Tristan were the last people I hadn't contacted yet." Felix paused a moment before responding.

"Are you going to send me the details or not?"

"Are you going to come?" Henry asked.

"If it works with my schedule, sure thing. I haven't seen any of the old gang in years!" Felix sent his last message.

Turning his phone off, he laid back in his recliner. It struck him as odd that Henry brought up the old gang because he'd just been thinking about them. All the good old times back in high school, before they were all scattered by life. Henry's message came through. The details lined up perfectly with Felix's schedule. I guess it's just meant to be. Felix thought.

A week later, Felix rolled up to the address, his window down. The other two stood waiting for him. They were gathered around a piece of paper with the large letters written across it.

ONLY READ ME WHEN EVERYONE IS HERE

Felix got out of his car. Something felt off about this whole scenario. Henry suddenly getting a note telling him to gather his friends, right outside of their old school. The fact that nobody could get a hold of Tristan. It just gave him an unnerving feeling.

As he walked up to the group, Henry hailed him. "Hey Felix, I'm glad you made it!"

"Yeah, sorry I'm a bit late, traffic was a real pain," Felix said.

"Oh, you're all good man. I'm just glad you made it." Henry said.

"What's up with the piece of paper?" Felix asked as they joined the rest of the group.

"No clue." Halia, Felix's old crush said. "But now that we're all here, we can finally find out."

"So read it then," Felix said, gesturing at the piece of paper.

Henry flipped the paper over. On the other side was a nicely written letter. They all read it silently.

Hello, all of my old friends. It's Tristan. I'm glad that you are all together for at least one more time. It's just too bad that I couldn't be there. Not that any of you noticed my absence anyway. I suppose this is my way of providing all of you with a final sendoff before I leave for good.

"Before I leave for good?" Felix whispered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I have no clue man, just keep reading," Halia said.

First of all, I want to know, did any of you really care about me? Did you ever notice when I wasn't there and did you even care when I was? Because I never could tell if I was just that one kid you allowed to stay with you. I never really knew if you cared about me. And that's really too bad because that is ultimately what led to my decision. My decision to kill myself.

Felix's heart dropped. This wasn't just any note, it was a suicide note. It was like a horrible accident, one that you wanted to look away from but simply couldn't. The other two let out a gasp as they read.

I want all of you to know a few things. I really cared about all of you, I really did. I looked up to all three of you. You were like the older siblings I never had. You each meant the world to me. But why would a world pay attention to a lowly little man like me, right? So I stayed in your shadows, never sure if you even noticed me hanging out with you guys, let alone if you cared about me. I was always just there.

Felix wanted to reach through the paper and slap Tristan across the face. He wanted to shake him and scream at him. Tell him how much he'd really meant to him, how much he'd appreciated his company. How much he'd actually cared about Tristan. 

An image of Tristan popped into Felix's head. His ratty black hair. Brown eyes sunken into his gaunt face. At first, Tristan had been a really happy guy, at least when he was around Felix and the others. Now that Felix thought about it, the only time Tristan had seemed even remotely happy was when he was around Felix and the others. At the time nothing had seemed wrong, but looking back, Tristan had always seemed a bit off, a little sad when he wasn't with the group. Constantly hiding his face in his dark hoodie. It seemed so obvious something was wrong now. He continued reading.

So, I lived in your shadows. People called me 'popular' because I hung out with you guys. I never really felt that way. Nobody came up and complimented me like they did to you. No one ever showed their appreciation for the things I did. No one said thank you when I refilled their drinks, or when I would drive them someplace.

Now that Felix thought about it, he realized how little he'd actually expressed his gratitude for Tristan. That guy had done practically everything for him, Halia, and Henry. He would drive them everywhere, and get them anything they wanted. But they never told him that they appreciated it.

"Thank you," Felix whispered. Tears started to gather in his eyes. Only a little bit of the letter left.

So, I want you all to learn a lesson from my death. But first, please understand this, you three are not the sole cause of my death. I simply wanted to teach you a lesson, maybe help you become better from my death. There were many more factors, many more people who helped lead to my decision to take my own life. Don't blame yourselves. To put it simply, life made me feel unappreciated, unloved, so I unlived. All I ask is this: learn from your mistakes. Be kinder to others. Serve people wherever you can. And above all, show your appreciation. Tell others thank you for the things they do for you. And maybe do things for them in turn. Until we meet again in the next world, know I love you all. Love - Tristan, you're loyal friend, even across the grave.

Felix stepped back, feeling released from the hold the note held on him. Tears formed in his eyes as he thought about poor, unappreciated Tristan. He grew sweaty, and his chin began to quiver. He replayed the letter over and over again in his mind. His chest grew tight, and he started to itch nervously. All three friends were silent for a moment.

A billion questions ran through Felix's head. Why hadn't he ever shown his appreciation to Tristan? Why would Tristan go to this extreme? Had he really failed him so badly as a friend? What more could he have done? Could he have prevented Tristan's suicide?

"I can't believe this," Halia said. "I feel so bad. Like I should have done more."

"We should have actually told him how much we appreciated him," Henry said quietly.

"I want to make a promise with you two, a pact," Felix said, tears starting to stream down his face. "We'll all do our best to actually tell people how much we appreciate them. For Tristan."

"For Tristan." the other two agreed.

​The three of them walked back to their cars. As Felix sat down, he completely broke down. Tears flew out of his eyes, and his heart felt shattered into a billion tiny shards. He wished he could travel back in time and tell Tristan how much he'd meant to him. Only one thought came to his mind. I will always appreciate people from now on. Because I don't want anyone to ever feel unappreciated, unloved, unlived.

Part 2 - Unloved

Maia woke up early in the morning, her back aching. Age was certainly catching up to her. In her early fifties, her children had all left the house several years ago. At first, it had been strange, the empty quietness of just her and her husband. But eventually, she'd gotten used to the silence, and she enjoyed it. She rolled over on the bed to see her lovely husband, Abu, still snoring like a chainsaw.

She realized she couldn't go back to sleep, so she moaned as she sat up in the bed, back popping. Maia slowly walked out of the bedroom and down the hall to the living area. Realizing she hadn't brought in the mail yesterday, she walked outside in her bathrobe and slippers to bring it in. 

The fresh air was nice on her face, and she breathed in deeply. The morning was beautiful, the air crisp, and the world quiet. Opening the mailbox she pulled out the cluster of mail. As she walked back, she sorted through it. Mostly advertisements and bills, one letter caught her eye. It said it was from her son Tristan.

A broad smile crossed her face. She hadn't heard from Tristan in over a year. Shouting happily, she ran inside, whooping and hollering. Abu came out of the bedroom, a sour look on his face from being woken up.

"What is it Maia?" he asked. "Why are you so excited?"

"We got a letter from Tristan!" Maia exclaimed. "Come on, let's read it. We haven't heard from him in so long."

"Fine," Abu grumbled. "I just hope he's got a valid excuse for ignoring us for more than a year."

The two of them sat down side by side on the couch as Maia opened the letter. They started to read it silently.

Hey Mom, Dad. It's me, Tristan. I am really sorry I didn't ever come to visit much. But this isn't why I'm writing to you. I'm writing to explain to you part of why I made the decision to end my life, and what part you contributed.

Maia's chest suddenly felt pained. This wasn't a letter from her son catching them up on life. This was his suicide note. Tears started to gather in her eyes, but she continued reading.

I want you to understand what it was like growing up in our family. I felt unloved. We never said 'I love you' around the house. And we constantly fought, even over petty things like who's job it was to do the dishes. Nobody ever seemed to apologize, nobody ever admitted when they were wrong. And it only got worse at bigger family functions. Whenever we got together with the rest of the family, everybody just fought and fought. It wasn't even over current things. Our family fought over grudges from decades ago.

Maia had never considered how much their family fought. She'd grown up in a household that fought their feelings out. She'd always been under the impression that it was completely normal for a family to have their disagreements and not resolve them. And because of that, she'd forced that environment on her own children. The letter continued.

But I don't want to be like that. I don't want to go to the grave with a grudge against you two. If nothing else, I want you to learn a lesson from my death. I killed myself because I felt unappreciated, unwanted, and so I unlived. Now it's not all your fault, a few others contributed to these feelings. My only hope is that my death will spark some change in you.

Who else could have contributed to Tristan's death? It couldn't have been his friends. They'd always been good to him, loyal. Unless there had been things she hadn't seen. Unless maybe his friends hadn't been as kind as she'd thought. She continued reading the letter.

The lesson I want you to learn is this: Love More. I want you to love others like you never seemed to love me. Tell my siblings how much you love them. Tell your friends, acquaintances, and the world that you love them. Who knows, maybe you will help stop someone else from going down the path I did. I hope you do. The world could use a little more love. Until we meet again in the next life, Love - Tristan

The words stung Maia. It hurt her to think Tristan felt unloved in her home. She thought she'd provided him with plenty to show him she loved him. But he'd felt so unloved that he'd killed himself. It hurt her to her very core. She felt like her heart was bleeding out within her chest, ripped open by Tristan's death and the words he'd left behind.

Maia and Abu cried. They cried for the loss of their child. They cried for their regrets of not telling him how loved he was. And they cried for everyone else they knew would be hurt by Tristan's death.

"What do we do now?" Maia said, sniffling.

"We do what Tristan asked," Abu said, his voice horse from crying. "We tell everyone we love them. We try to make the world a better place so nobody else feels unloved."

Maia nodded. "We can't let anyone else feel unappreciated, or unloved."

"Agreed," Abu said. "Now it is our job to bring more love into the world. Who knows, maybe we can prevent more people from being like Tristan. Unappreciated, unloved, and unlived."

Part 3 - Unlived

It was a rather cloudy day when Tristan woke up for the last time. The dark storm clouds brought an even darker mood to his apartment.

"I suppose it's fitting," Tristan muttered to himself. "Cloudy on the day I end it all."

Tristan had already arranged his letters to everyone he needed to. He only hoped that they would make the impact he wanted. It was too late for him, but maybe his friends and family could make a difference to somebody else.

Tristan started to prepare what would be his final meal. A sweet breakfast of cinnamon rolls, slathered in cream cheese frosting. His favorite. The sweet frosting melted on his tongue, filling his mouth with the sweet flavor.

"It's a pity life can't be this sweet." Tristan thought out loud. "Maybe then it would be worth living."

The last few months, no, last few years Tristan had been living in a fog.  He'd merely survived, going through the daily motions. Wake, eat, work, sleep, repeat. His life had been unfulfilling, not worth living. So, a few weeks ago he'd made the decision to end it all. And now that everything was sorted out, it was finally time.

Tristan walked to the bathroom, slowly opening the door. He felt strangely calm, at peace with his decision. He supposed having weeks to brace himself for it allowed him to make peace with it. Tristan didn't particularly believe in an afterlife, but if there was one, he hoped to end up wherever he'd feel the most at peace.

Pulling a razorblade off the shelf, Tristan stepped into the bathtub. He sat down, revealing the extremely sharp blade. Tristan held the blade to his arm, his hand shaking. For a moment he hesitated before recommitting himself.

The razor-sharp blade pierced his skin, sending spikes of pain up his arm and into the rest of his body. He slowly cut down from top of his forearm to his wrist, opening a gaping bloody wound in his arm. Moving on to the other arm, a symmetrical wound soon appeared on his other arm. Blood rushed from the wounds, surrounding Tristan in a small pool of his own blood.

As he bled out in the bathtub, Tristan's life flashed before his eyes. He remembered when he was seven, he got a puppy for his birthday. He'd been so happy to have a pet of his own, Rufus. They'd been inseparable until Rufus grew old and died. Tristan cried for days afterward, missing his best friend, that ever loyal german shepherd.

 Tristan's mind wove through his childhood. As he thought back on it, maybe his childhood hadn't been as horrible as he'd perceived it to be. His father had worked hard to provide them with a very nice house, and they'd frequently gone on vacation to awesome places. That was until they stopped going places, and the arguing had intensified. As Tristan entered his teenage years, he and his parents stopped getting along and constantly argued.

Soon after that, Tristan had met Felix, Henry, and Halia. He'd turned to them as his second family, the ones that wouldn't argue with him over little things. But he never felt like he fit in with them. It was like they were in a league of their own and he was just their ride. In a moment of clarity, Tristan could see how much they really had included him. They would text him out of nowhere and ask if he wanted to go to the mall or go bowling with them. He'd just failed to see the positive because of the drama at home. after they'd graduated, they'd drifted apart, moving on with their lives.

After High School, Tristan had gotten a job at a call center. It didn't pay very well, but it kept him in a decent little apartment. There he'd endured days of angry customers, unfriendly coworkers, and a jerk manager. It eventually got into his head, filling it even more with negative thoughts. Voices in his head telling him he wasn't enough, he wasn't worthy of love. Voices telling him he didn't deserve to live.

And all of that had led him to this point, all alone, bleeding to death in a tiny little apartment. Tristan snapped out of the memories. Even though he was as good as dead at this point, his mind was clearer than it had been in years. Everything suddenly made sense.

He'd always been too worried about what others think. Tristan had put others opinions above his own. He'd been too afraid of what others would think of him to truly live his life. His life had been unlived. He'd failed to appreciate himself, to love himself. He could have done so much more, lived so much more. If only he'd realized sooner that the opinion of others didn't matter, didn't define who he was.

"I don't want to go." Tristan whispered as his mind started to slow from blood loss. "I could do so much more! I have so much to live for!"

Tristan tried to haul himself out of the bathtub, to find help. But he'd lost too much blood. His arms offered no support, and he collapsed back into the bathtub. He started to cry as the last drops of blood bled from his wounds. If only he could get out of here, find help. He could turn his life around, make it worth living. But it was too late for him.

Tristan stared emptily at the ceiling as the final drop of blood dripped from his arm. His last tear rolled down his cheek as his world went black.  His life had gone unappreciated, unloved, unlived.