To Whom It May Concern

Have you ever faced a decision that you knew wouldn’t end well, no matter what you chose? A rock and a hard place? A decision where, no matter what, somebody would get hurt?

What would you do?

Would you choose the path that left you hurt? That made everyone else better, but made you worse? That somehow, no matter what you did, left you scared? Nervous? Threatened?

Or would you choose to be spared from that pain? Would you let others get hurt instead of yourself? You’d just leave it all behind, knowing that, in the long run, you’d be spared?

Well? Got your answer? I’m sure most of you chose to hurt yourself in order to keep others safe. That’s what I’d choose. Of course,  there’s more to the story than that.

Now what if I told you that you had two choices:

You choose to hurt yourself rather than others, but the longer you put yourself in the fire to get those people out, the closer they got to the flame? You’d be burning alive, but because you took the pain, eventually everyone begins to feel it too. You’d be hurting them in the long run, even though you decided to take the fall?

Or would you choose to hurt them, but every reminder of them hurts yourself in more ways than you can imagine? They’d forget the pain, but every time you thought about it all, the pain just grows into a constant numbness that never seems to fade?

Fancy fonts and dodging rhetorical questions wouldn’t get you out of that mess, and neither would it I. 

1. You’d be hurting everyday, all the time, and even then you know that they’d be hurt too because of what you’re doing.

 2. They’d be incredibly hurt, but as their pain fades, yours only get stronger. 


So, tell me, what pops into your head when you read this? What memory do you, dear person, think about? We all have a story of pain, one that left you changed. The one that opened your eyes and made you realize, “Look! This is how it really is.”

So, to whom it may concern:

I’m more scared than I let on. I’m more sensitive than you realize. I may seem strong and confident and always optimistic, but that’s only because you need me to be. My mask is for you, for you to believe that there is reason for hope.

My reasons are always changing. My reasons to hope and believe never stay long enough for me to realize they’re there. By the time I do, they’re gone.

Maybe, so will I. I’m always changing, and I’ll never be the same as I was before. That, in itself, is a guarantee.

But the mask you see is always there. The optimistic mask that could never fail will never fail in being happy. Even if I don’t believe that there’s hope, at least I can let someone believe that there is.


What do you choose?


To whom it may concern:

This is the way the world ends.

Not with a bang,

But with a whimper.



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