The Doctor said I had to do this

I’m not allowed to stop. Dr. Mandelet said it was better to keep going, keep writing, to let it all out or something like that. It’s a lot more difficult than you think because you know I’m not a rambler, I like to stop and consider what I’m about to say because else you hurt people’s feelings, like when mum told Aunt Julie she has thick calves and Aunt Julie started throwing things. I’m sure if mum thought about it she wouldn’t have said it because having thick calves isn’t really a compliment. I feel like I should write BLABLABLABLA until I’ve filled the page to make sure I finish but who would want to read a letter filled with BLA? Then again it’s not like you’re actually going to read it, really if I’m honest with myself. Which also means there’s no point in asking questions like how are you? – because I’ll never know the answer and it will just make me sad that I don’t and it will make me feel pretty stupid for writing a letter that will never get read or answered anyway.

I’m a bit confused. I don’t really know why I have to do this. I feel like everything has been blown to pieces, everything I knew about the world, about life about everyone in it has been completely destroyed like in that movie we secretly watched, the one mum said I was too young to see, where the world gets blown up in a million pieces of dust and that’s how it feels right now. I don’t understand any of it any more and I don’t want to be a part of it because I’m only young and a lot of bad stuff has happened to me already. I’m not feeling sorry for myself, I promise. I know you hate that but I don’t really know where to go from here. What do I do after I’ve finished writing this, what do I do after dinner? What do I do when the weekend is over? When do I go back to school? Do I start doing homework again? Do I call a friend? I really don’t know and I don’t want any of it and I hate that you’ve put me in this position because I used to be a happy person. I used to smile almost every single day and think about positive things like how I was going to be the new prime minister and make everyone happier but now I don’t think about that any more. I hate you for making sad.

Sorry I had to stop there because I got really angry, I know that’s cheating because I’m not allowed to stop. I banged my head against the table because I felt so angry. I do that quite a lot, there’s a bruise on my forehead but I asked Becky to cover it up with some cream she has if I promised to be more helpful around the house. The banging make me feel a bit better. The pain feels worse than anger and so it takes it away for a while. Sorry for being angry at you, I know it isn’t your fault. I’m really sorry.

I don’t want to cry because I don’t want this piece of paper to be soaked in tears because mum just came in and said I should show it to Dr. Mandelet on Friday but I told her I didn’t want to but she said it was probably best because he could help me with something they keep calling the grieving process. I don’t really understand what they mean. I know what grief is, I know that’s what I have but it’s not a process because I will have this grief for the rest of my life unless there’s some pill to make it less strong? It feels like a hole in my stomach and it swallows up everything I do and it never lets me forget, even when I’m drawing my comic book it just constantly reminds me of you and then I can’t draw any more. I hope it doesn’t last forever but I’m sure it will because you will always be dead, always, so how can it ever go away?

I said this to mum and she started shouting at me which I thought was rude. I know I’m supposed to be kind to her but sometimes it’s difficult. She never leaves me alone and when she cries in front of me I don’t know what to do. Becky is better with that kind of thing, she hugs her and then she stops sobbing so loudly but once I put my arm around her she started choking on her tears and then I hugged her tighter but she pushed me away.

I’m very scared at this point because my worst fear is that I’m forgetting what you look like which is silly but it frightens me the most. I draw your face everyday so I don’t forget, I have a photograph of you and I also draw you from memory so I never forget what you look like. But I’m scared that one day I will and how can I be a son when I can’t even remember your face? I might as well stop existing when that day comes, so don’t worry I’m going to keep on drawing you and drawing you and stick the drawings all over my room so I never forget, I won’t ever forget you. I promise, I really do prmise.

I had to bang my head again because I’m getting really upset and I’m sick of being upset now. I just want to say one more thing. I’m very sorry, I’m very sorry that I wasn’t a better son, I’m sorry that I said I was doing homework when really I was drawing my comic book and I shouldn’t have lied because I know you like it when I draw anyway. And I’m sorry that the day before you died I took a 50p coin from your trouser pocket in the laundry basket and I didn’t tell you and I’m so sorry for being such a horrible person but I already punished myself by wrapping my Wii remote in cling film and I’m not allowed to play it for 50 years. If I would have known that you would be gone like that I never would have done those things. I also hope that dying didn’t hurt you. I don’t believe in heaven but maybe I will because I want to imagine you being in a nice place with a comfy couch like the one we all bought together.

I don’t know how to end this, I don’t want it to end but it has to. I think I might keep this letter and write every time I feel like talking to you, I’m sorry if it becomes a nuisance.