Dear Mum, Dad and Emily,

I want you to know that I did not kill myself because of anything you did or didn’t do. If I were going to raise a child, I would raise him or her exactly as you raised me. And, Emily, you’ve been a good sister to me. You’re going to grow into a beautiful and clever woman, I’m sure of it. Have a good life!

I guess you can move more of your stuff into my room now. Emily should store her soft toys on my bunk bed. Or maybe it’d be a bit morbid to keep that. Especially depending on where you find my body. Maybe put in a double bed, make it a guest room. Not many people visit us, though.

At my funeral, make sure no one talks about how I always seemed happy and shit like that. That’s just over-compensating, post-shock bullshit, I hate it. I mean, I do seem happy. I know that. And often I am.

But not often enough, you know?

Your affectionate son,

James.