A Breathless Place

The Letter

Dear Friends,

At first, this may be very difficult to comprehend, but I’m confident that, in the end, you will understand why I had to do this. Maybe not fully. Maybe not how I feel in my very bones that this is the only way things could go for me. But you will get it. That’s why I’m writing you this letter.

I’ve thought about this for a very long time. For years and years. Taking my own life is not a decision I’ve made lightly; you can be absolutely sure of that. It’s one I’ve looked at from every possible angle. I studied the outcome of every other possibility, although, let’s be frank, between dead and alive, the options are quite limited. Or maybe that’s not entirely true. There’s only one way to be dead. But there are many ways to be alive.

You can be alive-alive, like you, Ira. You take every bull by the horns, you take on every challenge, no matter how difficult, and ride the f**k out of it. I do love that about you, but that’s not an option for me. Since the surgery, I’ve been cautiously-alive. Well, depressed-alive at first. But the depression did lift.

I want you to know I’m not doing this because I’m depressed. When I was depressed, I went to see Doctor March and he helped me through the worst of that. This is not a matter of depression. This is a matter of actively choosing death over life.

I’ve led a privileged, astounding life. The kind of life people grow up dreaming of. It’s truly been a wonder. It’s a marvel, the way things have gone for me, back to when I was so young. Yes, there was pressure, and fame isn’t something that comes without adversity and its very own challenges. But it’s been truly great. If I was at all religious, I would say I’ve been blessed. Despite what happened, I have been very blessed.

It’s also because so many wonderful things have happened to me that I’m now able to say, firmly, that, for me, it’s been enough. You may think I don’t have the right to say that, but I would disagree. This is my life. Why can’t I do what I want with it, even if it means cutting it short? Besides, you can hardly call my life short. Maybe sixty is short for some, but I sometimes feel like I’ve lived many lives in those sixty years. I’ve been the singer—that alone has been enough to fill so many lifetimes. I’ve been the me I’ve become after my career ended. All in all, it’s been a crazy, hectic, often ecstatic ride. A ride of which, nonetheless, I’ve had enough.