December 17, 2025
Today marks the end of something I never thought would weigh so heavily on my heartthe end of my time as Class Representative. It's strange how something so simple on papertaking attendance, sending reminders, being a bridge between professors and classmatescould carry such emotional weight. But it did. And now, with my condition worsening, I can no longer shoulder even this small responsibility. Honestly, I can barely take care of myself these days. How could I possibly look out for others?
I've tried. I really have. Through sleepless nights, through foggy thoughts and trembling hands, through days when getting out of bed felt like climbing a mountainI showed up. Maybe not perfectly, maybe not consistently, but I showed up. And for those classmates who saw that, who thanked me, who acknowledged my efforts even in passingI want you to know I carry your kindness with me. It mattered. More than you know. You made me feel seen in moments when I felt invisible, even to myself.
But the truth is, I'm not okay. My mind feels like a storm I can't escape, and the eleven pills I swallow every day don't seem to calm it. If anything, they just make the edges blurrier. I've started to believe I was never cut out for this rolenot because I lacked effort, but because I lack the stability it demands. A good CR is steady, reliable, present. I'm none of those things right now. And that's okay to admit. It's more than okayit's necessary.
Part of me wants to laugh it off, like always. "Haha, what did I even do? Just marked attendance and sent a few messages. Big deal!" But deep down, it was a big dealto me. It gave me a sliver of purpose, a reason to push through the heavocracy of each morning. Now, stepping away feels like losing a lifeline. But I have to be honest: I can't keep pretending I'm holding it together when I'm falling apart.
And then there's the other partthe part where I need to distance myself from my close friends. Not because I don't love them. Not because they've done anything wrong. But because if things go the way my darkest thoughts whisper they might… I don't want anyone crying over me. I don't want guilt hanging over their hearts. "He was just that weird CR who barely did anything." Let that be the memory. Better that than grief.
It sounds cold, I know. Maybe even cruel. But it comes from a place of twisted care. I've seen how pain ripples through people. I've felt the weight of others' sorrow when someone disappears from the world too soon. And I refuseabsolutely refuseto be the cause of that for the few people who've shown me warmth in this cold campus.
Still… I'll miss them. I'll miss the random chats between lectures, the shared snacks, the way someone once stayed back just to walk with me to the bus stop when they noticed I looked especially tired. Those tiny moments were lifelines in themselves. But lifelines can only hold so much weight before they snap. And I don't want mine to break while someone's still holding on.
People say, "You matter." "Your presence makes a difference." I want to believe that. Sometimes, for a fleeting second, I do. But then the fog rolls back in, thick and suffocating, and all I can hear is the voice that says, "You're a burden. You've done nothing. You're replaceable." And maybe that voice is lyingbut it's loud enough to drown out everything else.
Still, I promised myself I'd keep writing. Even if no one reads it. Even if my hands shake and my thoughts scatter like frightened birds. I'll write until my last breathsilly, sad, sarcastic, sincerewhatever spills out. Because in these words, I'm still here. Not the CR, not the "sick kid," not the ghost wandering campus alonebut me. Flawed, fractured, but trying.
So this isn't a formal resignation letter. It's not polished or professional. It's raw. It's real. It's me saying: Thank you. To those who saw me. To those who didn't look away when I was struggling. To those who said "good morning" even when I couldn't say it back.
And to the role itselfClass Representativethank you for giving me something to hold onto when I had nothing else. You were never just about attendance. You were my attempt to belong, to contribute, to be more than my diagnosis. I may not have been great at it, but I gave it my broken heart. And that has to count for something.
As I step back, I hope someone bettersomeone steadier, stronger, clearer-mindedtakes over. Someone who can be the CR this class deserves. Not the one who ghosts group chats for days, who forgets deadlines, who smiles while crumbling inside. That's not fair to anyone.
But before I go silent, let me say this one last thing: I hope you're all okay. I hope life treats you kindly. I hope your dreams aren't too heavy to carry. And if you ever feel as alone as I do right nowplease reach out. Don't do what I'm doing. Don't push people away. Hold on. Even if it's just to one person. Even if it's just for today.
Because someone out there does care. Even if it doesn't feel like it. Even if I can't be that someone right now.
So… goodbye, for now. Or maybe forever. But in this moment, as I sit here typing with tired eyes and a heart too full for my chest, I want you to know: you mattered to me.
And if no one else remembers my time as CR, that's fine. But I'll remember the ones who made it feel worth iteven for a little while.
Boiii boiii… still trying to be silly in the shadows.
Hehe.
A CR who tried.