"Hello everyone… well, hello A.
If you're reading this, I am dead.
So let's sit down and have one final chat.
My real name is Christiana.
And yes… I'm a girl."
I know this must be a lot to take in, and honestly, I never imagined this would be the way you'd find out. I never thought I'd leave like this—quietly, without warning, and without getting to say all the things I wish I had. But here we are.
I guess I should start with an apology. For hiding it from you, for keeping this huge part of my life in the shadows for so long. You probably never even suspected, right? I was Chris to you—the weird, math-loving, meme-spouting, nonsensical friend who always had some crazy argument to make about numbers. I know we joked about everything under the sun, and you never knew the real reason why I sometimes just… disappeared for a while. It was never about you. It was about me trying to hold onto something that felt normal, something that wasn't just my diagnosis or hospital visits or the weight of everything happening in the background.
The truth is, A, I was sick. I didn't tell you because I didn't want to be "the sick friend." I didn't want you to look at me like I was fragile or broken. I wanted you to see me—see the real me—the girl who loved Technoblade's videos, who could argue about primes and algebra until 3 AM, who had all these ridiculous dreams about numbers and chaos and solving problems no one else cared about. You made me feel like I was worth something. You made me feel alive, even when I was fighting just to keep going.
Do you remember the first time we started talking about math? It was probably something ridiculous—like, we were arguing about whether or not you could actually call a 2D shape a "3D object" if it had a mathematical perspective, or something equally nerdy. But somehow, that conversation turned into one of those moments I'll never forget. It wasn't about the answer, it was about you—you got it, A. You got the joy of the problem. You saw the same beauty in it that I did. And even now, thinking back on it, I feel like that's what really made us friends. We didn't need to explain everything—we just understood.
I think that's what makes this harder. I didn't want you to see me as a project. I didn't want you to feel bad for me. I wanted our friendship to be about what we loved, not about what was killing me. I never wanted you to see me fade, to watch me get weaker every time we talked, and I especially never wanted you to read this letter after I'm gone.
But here we are. And I want you to understand something: I didn't stop being me. Not for a second. I just kept living, in the only way I could, right until the very end. And the truth is, I thought I would get through it. I kept telling myself, This won't be the end. I kept thinking there'd be more time to figure out how to tell you, how to say goodbye properly.
I thought I'd get better. I thought I'd have more time to send you one last dumb meme, or share some last stupid joke about Technoblade—because let's face it, we both know he would've laughed at half of our conversations. And that was the other part of me that I didn't share—that we shared. I could've watched Technoblade fight to the end, and it wouldn't have been nearly as powerful as knowing I had a friend who would do the same. You and I were always the ones who got it. We understood what it meant to keep going even when you felt like giving up.
I guess now it's my turn to say goodbye.
I wish I could've told you in person, or at least seen you one last time before everything got so hard. But here I am, saying goodbye in a letter you probably never wanted to read. And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for not being brave enough to tell you sooner, to face you and say, "This is me, and I'm scared."
But I want you to know this—my feelings, everything we shared, were real. I wasn't hiding behind a screen. I wasn't pretending. I loved those nights where we'd just talk, solving math problems, making fun of each other, or ranting about things that didn't matter. It was the closest thing to freedom I've ever had. And in those moments, I wasn't sick. I wasn't dying. I was just your friend. And I'll always be grateful for that.
When you solve that impossible equation, or when you're laughing at something Technoblade said, I'll be there. Not in the way you can see, but in the way you feel. You'll feel me in the jokes, in the quiet moments when you're thinking deeply about something only we could understand. And I'll be cheering you on, from wherever I am.
Please don't carry the weight of this with you, okay? I don't want you to grieve me forever. I want you to live, to keep loving math, to keep laughing, and to find new friends who get it. You deserve to have people who will care for you the way you cared for me. You're worth it, A. You were always worth it.
And remember: Technoblade never dies. And neither do the memories we made.
With all my heart,
Christiana
(Your Chris)