A Letter To You

Breaking my silence after your death

By: Maddie Roth

A couple of days ago I found out that you overdosed. Cause of death: heroin. Actual cause of death: your demons. The last time I saw you was four months ago, and you were doing incredibly well. You were in a healthy relationship with a fantastic woman, you had a stable job, and you had been sober for a year. You were going to stay clean for the rest of your life, you told me. And I believed you.

I got the call and immediately broke down. You can’t be gone; I refuse to believe that you’re gone. I keep replaying the conversations we shared over and over again, trying to convince myself that you didn’t go back to using. I keep repeating the part where you told me you were never going to use again and this time was different. Because it can’t be true. No matter how hard I try, I can’t convince myself that this is my reality.

My favorite thing about you was the way you cared about me. You took a chance, opening up to a girl half your age and sharing your addiction story. You didn’t have to tell me anything, but you told me everything. I got to know your heart and what you lived for. You were a sweet, caring, charming individual who captured my heart from the very first conversation. You cared about me, and I knew you were someone special.

The first time I met you, we talked for two hours. I ended the interview, but you had more to say. Then you told me. You told me that the reason you would always find your way back was because you couldn’t handle your happiness. You had gotten so used to being beaten down to the ground that that was where you thought you belonged. You could never fully pick yourself back up again, no matter how hard you tried. One of these times you were not going to get back up. I guess this was that time.

I don’t know what else to say. I’m attempting to type this through mascara-infused tears and shaky fingertips, spilling every ounce of emotion that I have left onto this page. I want to write about you and write this letter to you. People need to know that you were more than your demons because you were, and I saw that. You died and my world stopped. Time froze and my heart shattered. I can’t seem to understand what happened or why you went back. You were supposed to stay clean; you promised me you were going to stay clean. You died and left me with this giant hole in my chest. You filled your void with heroin, but I don’t know what to fill mine with. You filled my void, and now you’re gone. What am I supposed to do?

I wrote an article about your story. I wrote about how successful you were and how you had found your way out of addiction. You were a survivor. You won the war. But little did I know you had only won a major battle. I can’t look at your story. I can’t bring myself to read what I wrote about you because none of it seems real anymore. How do I read those words? How do I listen to our recorded interview? Your voice and the pictures are all I have left of you. How do I let that go?

Life is not going to be the same without you. I should’ve reached out sooner. I should’ve let you know I was thinking about you. I should’ve told you that you were part of my success and that I used your article for job interviews. You were my pride. I was so proud of you. I shared your story with anyone and everyone. I wrote you a letter before I left for college, but I thought I could give it to you when I came back home. I should’ve given you the letter. I will never forgive myself for that.

It has only been a few days since you died. I can’t begin to express how much I miss you. I can’t begin to express how much I love you. I will never be able to tell you, and that kills me. I can’t begin to express how much it hurts knowing that you are gone and I didn’t even get to say goodbye. 

This is my goodbye to you. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to protect you from your demons. I wish I could’ve. I hope you are happy wherever you are. I love you always. 

Since I never gave you your letter, here it is. This is my letter to you, Matt. 

Enjoy.