The empty white page and the blinking cursor stares at him.
This is not his suicide note.
This cannot be his suicide note.
He has too much to live for right now.
And he is afraid to die.

If he's truly honest, he's afraid to live as well.
But right now, living is the default.
And killing himself would either require effort or be painful.
This shit already hurts enough, so he's not going cause himself more pain.

He just… doesn't know if he can do it.
He's taken off more than he can hold.
It's not so much bitten off more than he can chew, because when he started, everything seemed manageable.
Or, if not manageable, at least do-able.
And then the unexpected happened, and made miracles difficult.
There are miracles you can work, and miracles you can't.
It's impossible to hit a high C if you can't speak a word.

Right now, the miracle is that he hasn't snapped at anyone.
Right now, the miracle is that his brief stint in the ER to supervise Jake's alcohol poisoning isn't affecting him more
(He was almost as drunk, and he's not sure why Jake called him instead of … except that Puck went off and joined the Army…And Jake and Ryder aren't really talking… And Jake didn't want Marley to know…. And apparently he comes across as dependable.)
Right now, the miracle is that he hasn't written back to one of those colleges and fucked everything everything up, instead of writing back to someone on a help forum and giving bad advice.
Right now, the miracle is that he called the helpline this morning and mostly kept his promose.
Right now, the miracle is that he only vomited once.
Right now, the miracle is that he hasn't picked up the blade on the table, or gone and fished the pills out of the drawer.
Right now, the miracle is that this isn't a suicide note.

Not that anyone else will ever know what a miracle tomorrow is.